Modern Magic

by mieraspeller

Summary:

When Joe was a kid, he thought his Aunt's house was amazing. Now, he'd just like it to stop messing with him.

Notes:

This is a WIP, but if you want to know how it all turns out for them, I've already posted the coda. And many thanks to Sarah/Obscure_Ramblings who helped me brainstorm when I got hopelessly stuck halfway through.

Chapter 1

 

Mostly, Joe enjoyed working from home. He didn’t have to get up until noon if he didn’t want to, he could paint in his underwear, the kitchen was ten steps away, his cat didn’t get lonely—there were a lot of positives.

It wasn’t until he got the reminder text from his mother about Saturday breakfast that he realized he hadn’t left the house since Liam had broken up with him. He sniffed his t-shirt and recoiled. Or showered, apparently.

Cat stalked off in protest when Joe shifted to stand up from his couch. The house felt dampened and sullen, but it seemed to brighten as he showered and changed into shorts and a paint-stained tank top. After a moment of indecision, he went out through the back.

Outside, the air seemed to dance and waver from the heat and Joe nearly went right back inside. The door resisted when he tugged at it, though, and Joe sighed and decided a short walk would do him less harm than a fight.

Squinting into the sunlight, he saw the kitchen garden was crackling dry—even the rosemary was limp and lifeless—and the ivy had started to grow over the windows of the sunporch. He shot a reproachful look at the door, muttered, “Get it together.” The screen door flapped open and slammed closed in retort.

“Drama queen,” Joe rolled his eyes and slid his sunglasses on.

“Sorry, were you talking to me?”

Joe started, one hand flying to his chest, the other groping for the garden gate. He looked around, then up, finally spotting a man kneeling on the roof of his neighbor’s garage. Framed between the branches of the trees that grow on the line of their two properties, the man was hard to make out with the distance and the hat shading his face.

“What?” Joe asked, automatic. “I—what are you doing?”

“…fixing the roof,” the man told him slowly. His English was lightly accented but that didn’t make the incredulity of his answer any less obvious.

“Right, of course. No, I wasn’t talking to you, I was talking to…” he paused. He couldn’t possibly tell this stranger that he was talking to his house, so instead he finished, lamely, “…to myself.”

“Ah. Sorry to interrupt,” the man said, and Joe’s face heated. What a dick, he thought.

“It’s fine,” Joe said evenly, finally opening the gate. He only got another two steps before the man called:

“You ought to water your garden. It doesn’t look so good.”

Infusing every bit of sarcasm he could into his voice, Joe said, “Thank you very much.” He stomped off down the path, loud enough to drown out any further remarks.

It took an hour of wandering before he calmed down enough to go back to the house. He peeked through the trees as he approached, breathing a sigh of relief when he didn't see the nosy workman on the next door roof.

The gate was, as it should have been, fastened securely. Freshly-watered smells of mint and basil mingled strongly in the air as he passed through the soggy garden, and the ivy was once more creeping around the windows rather than over.

When he got to the door, though, Joe stopped short. Tucked in the crease between door and frame was a business card. Joe picked it out with two fingers and read it. Di Genova Repairs was printed on the front, along with a phone number and an email address. Written on the back, in perfect block print, were the words: I hope you don’t mind that I watered your garden.

Frowning, Joe stared at the card. Then he looked back at the garden, planted by the great-aunt who had left him the house, which had stubbornly carried on for years despite his continued disinterest in it.

“Seriously?” Joe grumbled, shaking his head and wrestling the reluctant door open, tossing the business card into the trash as he went.

Chapter 2

The next morning the card was notably not in the trash can where it belonged, but stuck under the strawberry-shaped magnet on the refrigerator.

“I don’t have time for this,” Joe said vaguely. He absolutely didn’t—if coffee wasn’t forbidden at family breakfast he wouldn’t even be in the kitchen to see the card where it ought not to be. Briefly, he considered tossing it again, but he had a feeling that it would only prolong the annoyance. “What? Does something need to be fixed? I need a little direction here.”

No reply was evident. He stared blankly at the message on the back of the card. Bad enough that a total stranger offered him unsolicited gardening advice, but that the man had the audacity to trespass just to water some plants? And then to leave that message behind, advertising his…his disdain for Joe’s ability to take care of his own house! Joe would have gotten to it. Eventually. Probably. Anyway, the garden took care of itself.

It was only then that he registered that the coffeemaker was still distinctly lacking in coffee. Frowning, he checked that it was plugged in, turned on, the water and the coffee were in their proper places. Still, the machine stayed stubbornly still, silent and decidedly coffee-less.

“What the hell?” Joe prodded it some more before he sighed and glanced at his watch. If he left now, he had just enough time to stop and grab coffee at the cafe and still make it to his parents’ house on time.

Scowling one last time, he checked Cat had food and water, then walked through the front room. Keys and wallet in hand, he opened the door—and froze as an unholy screeching noise, followed by a series of crashes, echoed from the kitchen. There was a calico-colored streak as Cat raced for cover, and Joe ran back into the kitchen only to stare in disbelief.

Every single one of the kitchen cabinets’ blue-painted doors had fallen off, hinges and all.

“Really? Really?! I—I can’t even deal with this now.” Sweeping the kitchen with one last incredulous look, he stomped out of the house, slamming the door behind him.

“Hey!”

Joe looked up and saw a white truck with Di Genova Repairs painted on the door parked in front of the neighbor’s house. Turning, he saw the same man as before halfway down the ladder propped against the garage.

“Are you okay? I heard a crash.”

“For god’s sake,” Joe mumbled, then said louder, as the man came closer, “I’m fine. Something just…fell.” He shook his head and said again, “I’m fine.”

The man stopped a few feet away, eyebrows raised. "I'm glad. Did you get my card?”

“Yes,” Joe said again. “And I—” did mind, he meant to say, but for some reason words failed him. Possibly it had something to do with the way the repair man tilted his head and sunlight brightened his whole face, especially his tiny, hopeful smile. “Thanks,” he said instead, only slightly grudgingly.

The smile widened, went a little crooked, showing off surprisingly sharp canines. Joe remembered his kitchen cabinets and tried to hang onto his annoyance. “I’ve got to run...”

“Of course. If you need any help with…whatever it was that fell, you have my number. I’m Nicky, by the way,” he said.

Joe could rapidly feel his indignation draining away at the easy introduction and the man’s sincere smile. Damn.

“Thanks. Joe,” he added, feeling stilted and awkward.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Nicky said, holding out a hand. Joe shook it automatically, flinching as their hands met and his stomach swooped like he was about to go down a rollercoaster.

“Yes, sorry—I’m going to be late,” he said quickly, jerking his hand back and feeling a momentary pang of guilt at the confused look on Nicky’s face as he escaped.

 

 

“What’s wrong with you?” Noor greeted him at the door to their parents’ house. Joe made a face and skirted around her. He said the usual greetings, kissed his mother and sat down at the table. Noor sat down next to him, elbowing him accidentally-on-purpose.

“How’s Liam? When are you going to invite him to breakfast?” his mother asked warmly, and Joe managed to say something about “work” and “incredibly busy” before changing the subject to the new curtains and trying not to think about how he hadn’t actually been thinking of Liam at all.

The worst part, the absolute stupidest thing, was that Joe had hardly thought of Liam since the breakup. He’d been sulking, admittedly, but it was less about the person than about how Liam had told him, when he'd left, that their relationship had been a waste of two years of his life.

In fact, his mind kept replaying Nicky's worried expression, followed by that smile.

The topic of new decor lasted until his elder sister, Yasmine, clattered through the front door with her two children, ten minutes late, as usual. Sarra and Skander flew at their grandparents and Joe shamelessly turned the conversation back to them every time anyone glanced his way. He knew he’d have to break the news sooner or later, but he’d really prefer later.

Joe’s hopes of escaping unquestioned were dashed when Noor practically chased him to his car and stole his keys out of his hand.

“Liam?”

“We broke up.”

“Good riddance. He had the personality of a slice of dry toast,” she said unsympathetically, but she hugged him and even offered to get him drunk, as, “some friends and I are planning on going out tonight already.”

Joe managed a smile. “Thanks, but I’ve got…house stuff.”

“Suit yourself,” Noor shrugged and finally relinquished his keys. “Unlike some, my apartment is exceptionally well-behaved.”

“That only means it’s got no personality at all,” Joe said in a familiar refrain, grinning when she rolled her eyes at him.

Joe was still smiling slightly when he pulled into the lot of the little hardware store across from the grocery he frequented. He was not going to call a professional to put up a few cabinet doors. It couldn’t be that hard, right? Right.

 

When Joe got home and found Nicky’s truck missing, he felt a momentary pang of disappointment. Cat met him at the door, meowing plaintively as he followed her into the kitchen. Protesting against the mess, Joe assumed, since he couldn’t see the bottom of her food bowl. She perched on her shelf and watched with lazy disinterest as he gathered up the scattered screws and picked up the first cabinet door.

It was much harder than it looked, trying to hold up a heavy oak cabinet door with one hand whilst holding a screw and screwdriver and coordinating them both, and by the time he managed to reattach one hinge, he was sweating through his thin shirt.

As he started on the second hinge, he said conversationally: “You know, I’ve always liked open cabinetry. Maybe I’ll do all-new cabinets. I’ve heard good things about IKEA—“ before the word was fully out of Joe’s mouth, the screw he was fiddling with slowly, begrudgingly, began working its way back into the cabinet. It only took another half hour for Joe to rehang all the cabinet doors, now that they were being more cooperative.

Flushed with triumph, Joe stepped back and eyed his accomplishment with pride. He even watered the garden as a conciliatory gesture.

Still, the entire house felt like an indrawn breath. “Maybe I’ll go out for lunch,” he told Cat. Cat butted their face against Joe’s hand, bit him lightly on the finger, then hopped off the counter and trotted down the hall. Joe nodded, decided the cat was right, and headed out.

Chapter 3

Joe was sitting at his usual table debating what he wanted to try—the special? His favorite falafel wrap? Oh, butternut squash soup!—when the bell over the door jingled. That wasn’t uncommon. What was uncommon was a pair of work boots stopping in front of his table, and a voice asking, “Joe?”

Looking up, Joe found Nicky the handyman standing next to his table. Was he everywhere?

“Hi,” Joe said. “They give you lunch breaks?”

“What?”

“Well, you work on Sundays, so…” A brief glance around showed him that the cafe was full, as was usual for lunch on a Sunday. He looked back at Nicky, who was doing the same scan and from the look on his face coming up as empty as Joe. “Do you want to join me?”

Nicky looked at him sharply, then his face softened. “Please. Thank you.” He eased into the chair across from Joe and Joe slid his menu across the table, deciding instantly that he would get the soup.

After a few moments perusal, Nicky said, “It’s a nursery.”

“Hmm?”

“The job? I’m working on Sunday because the owners are expecting their first kid in a couple weeks and just discovered the roof above their nursery is leaking.”

“Oh.” Joe rubbed a hand over his mouth, trying to conceal the horribly soft smile that confession had pulled from him. “That’s very…kind of you.” He fiddled with his napkin. “Have you eaten here before?”

“No, I just…” Nicky trailed off, looking over as a waiter came out from behind the counter. Joe’s eyebrows rose but he waited until they had both ordered to remind Nicky of his question. “No,” he said again. “I just moved here a few weeks ago, actually, but my friends have been good about recommending me to new clients, so business is picking up.”

“Oh. What brought you here?” Joe asked, mostly out of politeness. Nicky’s face shuttered like a steel door. Hastily, Joe tried to think of something to move the conversation along, finally blurting out, “I just moved into my house a couple months ago, so I haven’t had to do much to it yet. My aunt—it was my aunt’s house—kept everything up very well, luckily. But, you know, you offered, so if you get a call in the middle of the night because a tree fell on the roof you only have yourself to blame!”

Throughout his ramble, Nicky’s face had gotten lighter until he was almost smiling at the end. Joe sighed in relief, then wondered why he was relieved not to have driven away the slightly awkward handyman.

Not that Joe had any room to talk about being a little awkward.

“I charge extra for middle of the night work calls,” Nicky told him.

“Understandable. I will endeavor to only allow trees to fall on my house during business hours.”

Nicky grinned, ducking his head slightly as if to hide it and my, his teeth really were quite sharp. Contemplating what exactly that might signify distracted Joe for a moment, until their waiter appeared with their drinks.

“What do you do for a living?” Nicky asked, hands curled around his condensation-wet glass.

Joe echoed him, wrapping his hands around his own mug of hot tea and wondering how he could enjoy the cold in the cafe, which always had the air conditioning on full blast during the summer. Then he remembered Nicky had asked a question and hurried to answer it.

“I work from home. Mostly graphic design, some freelance writing and commissions.”

“Anything I would recognize?”

“I’ve done some ads, a few greeting cards in my time,” Joe said with a small shrug. “If you’re a flower-sending kind of guy, I’ve done some very romantic lines for cards to send along with your delivery at the flower place downtown,” he added, grinning.

“What do you do if someone sends you flowers with your own words?” Nicky asked.

Joe sat back abruptly. He knew that Nicky hadn’t meant to prod a soft spot, but he was still unexpectedly hurt by his words. He swallowed and said, as lightly as he was able, “I don’t know, I haven’t had anyone send me flowers for a while.”

“Ah.” They were quiet long enough that the waiter came and went, leaving their food behind and they dug in quietly. Finally, after his burger was half-eaten, Nicky set it down and said, “Your garden…”

“Yes…?” Joe asked slowly, pausing with a spoonful of soup halfway to his mouth. He was a little confused but glad that they had successfully passed that conversational topic.

“Do you…like gardening?” Nicky winced immediately after he asked the question.

The words had been phrased so delicately that Joe almost felt bad for his amusement as he answered, “Not really. It was my aunt’s. Like I said, I haven’t changed the house or yard much since I moved in.” He paused, then added dryly, “But it seems to get along fine without me.”

“Mm.” Nicky’s mouth was pinched determinedly shut as he poked at his food. Then he dropped his fork and looked up at Joe, eyes wide and pleading, “I am sorry about trespassing, but my nonna would come back from the grave to haunt me if I left good herbs to die when I could save them.”

Laughter burst from Joe like water from a broken dam. It felt strangely cleansing. After he had finally chuckled his way to a teary-eyed stop, he felt lighter than he had in weeks.

“Nicky diGenova, savior of gardens,” Joe quipped, wiping his eyes. “What does yours look like?”

“My…oh, my garden? Small,” he said, ruefully. “I live in an apartment now, my garden is currently only a few pots on a windowsill.”

“Well, you are welcome to anything out of mine,” Joe offered impulsively. “I’m not entirely sure what half the stuff in there is, to be honest. It’s mostly my aunt’s.”

“Thank you. I may take you up on that.”

After they had finished their food and paid, Joe found himself on the sidewalk outside the cafe looking at Nicky.

“Thank you for sharing your table,” he said. “Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Probably,” Joe agreed. “Well…” he trailed off, then stepped back, smiling. “See you.” They parted ways and, after a moment of indecision, Joe ducked into the art shop across the street.

When he came back out, overladen with probably more new sketchbooks than he needed and a new set of pastels, he spied Nicky leaving the hardware store next to the cafe. It took a moment to recognize him with the four—four!—large bags of some sort of material hefted over his shoulder. Nicky caught his eye and waved with his free hand before dropping the bags into the back of his truck with ease. The truck bounced with the force.

Joe waved back, a little bemused.

 

Chapter 4

The thought of what new problems he might find at home took him to the park. He sat and sketched the ducks and the sunset for a long time. It wasn’t as if his house had never acted up before. It had fought vociferously over getting rid of the carpeting in the front room and he had to have a serious talk about the way the heater kept creeping downward when he’d moved in during the winter. But it had never been so blatantly destructive.

It wasn’t until until much later, when Joe either needed to go home or call his sister to ask for her couch, that he finally, warily, parked in his own driveway and looked at his own house. With aggravating trepidation, he unlocked the door and looked around.

Nothing seemed broken. He peeked in through all the doors before heading to bed. Cat, who had joined in on the exploration sometime after he looked in the kitchen to confirm the cabinets still had all their doors, jumped up on the bed after him to claim his rightful three quarters of the comforter and mewing at Joe when he didn’t immediately relinquish a pillow for their use.

Perhaps whatever was bothering the house had been fixed. Joe hoped so…but somehow, he didn’t think that was the case.

All through the night, the air conditioner cut in and out. As a result, Joe woke intermittently, sweat-soaked and with a monster headache. To cap matters off, at dawn he woke for the final time to the sound of the cat yowling and thundering out of the room. Before he could even consider rolling over and attempting a couple more hours of sleep, every set of window blinds in the room snapped up and fell to the ground in disastrous unison.

“Shit!” Joe squinted blindly around his suddenly far too bright bedroom, cursing his ancestors for creating a woman so stubborn she imbued her house with the ability to interfere in Joe’s life even after her death. His heart was pounding too hard to even consider going back to sleep. Finally, he crawled out of bed and stumbled around the room, stacking the blinds in one arm.

“I’m going to find the brightest, ugliest curtains of all time,” he hissed as he stalked down the hall. He didn’t bother to get dressed, just carted the broken blinds out to the dumpster in his shorts. Then he stood in the middle of the front yard, under the shade of the hawthorn tree, and enjoyed the breeze.

“Joe!”

As luck would have it, the Di Genova Repair truck was pulling up in front of the neighbor’s house, and Di Genova himself was waving through his open window. Then he was getting out and rounding the truck, smiling at Joe as he approached.

“Are you redecorating?” Nicky asked, gesturing at the stack of window blinds piled next to the dumpster.

Joe closed his eyes, took in a deep breath, and reminded himself that this wasn’t Nicky’s fault. “Sort of. Back to finish the roof?”

“Yes. I think I’ll be done today. Did you need any help?”

“Not unless you have a recommendation for an exorcist,” Joe said, turning to glare at his house.

“Actually,” Nicky said. Joe turned, eyebrows raising as he looked at Nicky. He smiled sheepishly. “My friend Quỳnh. I’ve got her number if you want it.”

Joe looked at Nicky afresh, seeing his slightly hunched posture and the prominent bags under his eyes and remembering his annoyingly good hearing, (extreme) strength and how his smiles rarely showed his teeth. Nicky’s smile faltered and he took a step back.

“…maybe. I’ll keep it in reserve.” Joe smiled brightly to show no hard feelings. “Do you want some coffee?”

Nicky looked at him for a long, wary moment before smiling tentatively. “That would be nice.”

He ushered Nicky inside, where it seemed the air conditioner had kicked back on again, as it was cold enough he shivered a little, abruptly remembering he had been standing on his front lawn in his boxers.

“Kitchen’s through there,” he said, pointing through the living room. “I’m just going to change.” Joe hurried down the hall to his bedroom. The door stayed stubbornly closed. “Do not test me today,” Joe muttered, leaning in close to the door knob. “I swear I’ll move out and make you into an AirBnB if—“

The door clicked open with a distinctly sullen air and Joe ducked inside, rolling his eyes when he found the drawer to his underwear opened suggestively.

“Stop being weird,” he complained, after another brief struggle with his dresser drawers, which seemed to only want to let him have access to his gym wear or his pajamas. In the interest of time he grabbed the first pair of pants that came past the knee and a plain white t-shirt. It wasn’t until he was nearly back into the living room that he looked down and saw the giant rainbow across the front of it. Oh, and the pair of novelty pajama pants his sister had gotten him, printed with little black cats and broomsticks.

Lovely.

But it was too late to turn back, as Nicky had already turned and smiled at him through the open doorway.

“Everything okay?”

Joe smiled reassuringly. “Fine. It’s an old house, sometimes the doors stick. Right, coffee!” He hurried over to the machine, mentally promising dire things if it didn’t work properly today. Miracle of miracles, though, the coffee flowed easily and soon he and Nicky both had mugs full of the life-giving liquid.

“Milk? Sugar?” Joe asked, opening the fridge and retrieving the almond milk.

“Sugar,” Nicky said. Joe pointed out the sugar jar on the counter and handed a spoon to Nicky before pouring milk into his own coffee.

Joe stirred his milky, sugarless coffee, then sipped, sighing in pleasure. He looked up to see Nicky putting several spoonfuls of sugar into his own coffee and raised his eyebrows. Apparently, Nicky had a sweet tooth.

After putting the lid back on the jar and stirring the sugar in, Nicky’s face screwed up and he dropped the spoon to raise his arm in front of his face, sneezing three times in quick succession.

Joe tore off a paper towel and handed it over. “Allergies?” He asked sympathetically. He kept the sachet his older sister had given him under his pillow, the only reason he wasn’t currently suffering from the excess of pollen.

“Ah…maybe,” Nicky said, turning away to wipe his nose. “Would you mind if we sat on the porch?

With a brief prayer that the house wouldn’t do anything…weird, Joe led the way out, settling onto the creaky porch swing. Nicky sat next to him, about a handspan between them. Now that the adrenaline and anger-fueled rush from earlier was calming, Joe was relying on the coffee to keep him alert and couldn’t think of anything but the growing list of impertinent questions he had for Nicky. He kept silent, drinking his coffee and watching the trees that bordered the backyard.

“The garden looks nice,” Nicky said, eyeing him with a tiny smile.

“Ha,” Joe dead-panned. More lightly, he added, “Seriously, I meant my offer yesterday. Take what you like. I doubt I’ll use any of it.” The swing jerked underneath them and Joe grimaced and laughed nervously. “Man, old houses, right?”

Nicky gave him a strange look, but nodded. “Thank you. I could stop by after I’m finished for the day, if that’s alright.”

“Perfect,” Joe said. “I work from home, so if you need anything I’ll be around. Water, bathroom…whatever. Feel free to come over. I’ll leave the back door unlocked.”

“Thank you,” Nicky said again, looking at Joe like…Joe wasn’t sure what that wide-eyed look meant. Surprise? Something more? The brief swipe of tongue over Nicky’s bottom lip was easier to interpret.

Before Joe could decide if he wanted to acknowledge it, Nicky changed the topic, asking, “What are you working on?”

“I’ve got a commission to finish up.” With some regret, Joe finished the rest of his coffee. “I should get to work,” he sighed.

“So should I,” Nicky replied, sounding equally regretful. “I’ll see you later.

“Come by for lunch,” Joe offered abruptly. “I usually forget to eat if I don’t set an alarm, at least until Cat reminds me.”

Nicky smiled. “In that case, I guess I have to.” He stood and Joe did as well, taking Nicky’s mug. “Thanks for the coffee. Should I come by around noon?”

“Yeah. How do you feel about…” Joe paused trying to remember what edibles he had. “Um. Turkey sandwiches?”

“Sounds great,” Nicky said, grinning. He took a step toward the kitchen door, then frowned, nose twitching. “I’ll go around outside,” he said, holding out the mug to Joe, who took it automatically.

“See you later,” Joe said, watching as Nicky stepped off the porch and walked through the garden. At the gate, he turned and waved.

Joe, holding a mug in each hand, smiled back. Then he went back inside. He might have forgotten about the house’s aberrant behavior if the door hadn’t slammed behind him as soon as he stepped inside.

“What now?” Joe demanded, to the flickering light on the ceiling. “I don’t have time for this today! I invited a guest for lunch.”

The light stuttered, steadied, then shone brightly again. Joe squinted suspiciously for a long moment. Finally, he judged it to have gotten over whatever issue it had and set the mugs in the dishwasher before going to the living room to work.

Chapter 5

Deep in the throes of concentration, Joe barely twitched when something brushed against his arm. Cat sometimes liked to join him but they would sit on him if they needed attention. He continued working, before another tickling sensation on his arm irritated him enough to look up, expecting a loose hair or the cat.

It was not hair. Or the cat. It was a spider, roughly the size of a Buick, and it was on Joe’s arm.

“Holy fuck!” Joe shrieked, dropping his tablet pen, half falling off of the couch, and, for lack of any other options, backhanding the giant spider off his arm. He scrambled over the coffee table, breathing hard and panicked, eyes wide as he both tried to track the spider and catalog anything nearby to capture it with.

There was a distant thud, but Joe couldn’t spare any attention for any other havoc his house was going to wreak. Just as he was feeling along the edge of his desk to grab his water glass, not daring to take his eyes off the spider lest it disappear and make it so he could never sleep again, Cat pounced.

Joe winced as the spider was crushed under the cat’s paws. Cat looked up at him with smug satisfaction writ large on their furry face. Before he could react any further than a whispered, “Gross,” there was a banging at the door, then a crunch.

Still flying high on adrenaline, Joe spun to face the door, prepared for whatever retaliation the house might bring to bear on an intruder—he still couldn’t remember that incident with the burglar without shuddering—but nothing happened. Joe was about to scramble for the fireplace poker, since the house had apparently abandoned him completely, when a familiar voice made him pause.

“Joe?! What’s wrong?” It was Nicky’s voice, but the hulking shoulders silhouetted in the forcibly opened doorway, the eyes flashing dangerously and the hands gripping crushingly at the door frame…could that be Nicky?

“It…” Joe started, swallowed to put a little moisture back into his dry mouth, then tried again. “It was a spider.” He startled at a touch against his leg but it was only Cat. When he looked back up again, Nicky had taken a step forward into the hall, one hand holding up the door, hanging half off its hinges. He looked himself again, just a tallish man with slightly wider than average shoulders, and eyes with the normal amount of shine to them.

“I’m so sorry,” Nicky said. “I heard you and I thought you might be hurt or…” he winced, looking back over his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I will fix the damage,” he promised.

That brought Joe’s attention back to the wreck of his front door. “I…would appreciate that. Not that I’m not thankful that you ran to my rescue,” he said, rubbing at his arm. “But Cat took care of the problem.” He gestured, then grimaced as he realized Cat had wandered off, leaving the squashed spider behind.

“Well…I’m glad.” Nicky finally gave up on willing the door back together and carefully propped it up in the doorframe. “Ah, let me just…I’ll run to the hardware store now.”

“You might as well come in and have lunch first,” Joe said, realizing how late it was. Now that he wasn’t focused on work, he was hungry. “I doubt another spider would dare to show its creepy little face here anytime soon.”

With a little snort of laughter, Nicky nodded and followed him into the kitchen.

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of Modern Magic