Archive of Our Own

For more than 200 years the Toews men have been blamed for everything that’s ever gone wrong in the town of Pumpkin Hollow.

It all began with Daniel Toews, who was sentenced to death by the townspeople all those years ago because he was different. Some might say it was only because he’d slept with all the wives of the men on the hanging committee, and more than a few of the men besides, but it was really because they feared him. Daniel had a gift: the gift of magic. It was this gift that ultimately saved his life, sparing him from the snap of the hangman’s rope. While he survived, he was banished from society, ostracized from the good townspeople. In a moment of despair he cast a spell upon himself that he would never again know the agony of love.

Over time, the spell twisted and became a curse. A curse on anyone who dared love a Toews.

Daniel did eventually marry, and even fathered a son, but on the day of his son’s birth, his wife died. She was the first, but no one has yet survived the love of a Toews.

***

Daniel’s great-great-great-great grandsons, Jonny and David, came to live with their aunts, Rebekah and Maude, after the death of their parents. Their mother had passed away in a tragic car accident, and their father had died of a broken heart days later.

Even now, Jonny’s strongest remembrance of that time was watching his father tear apart their house on the day of his mother’s death -- lifting up floorboards and moving furniture -- all the while crying and cursing the deathwatch beetle.

“Can’t you hear it?” he’d screamed at Jonny, fingernails bleeding from where he’d pried up the toe boards.

He couldn’t, but he’d helped him look for it all the same.

It hadn’t worked. Three days later Jonny had buried his mother; and a week after that, his father. As he watched his father’s coffin lower into the ground, he’d vowed never to fall in love.

***

Jonny liked living with his aunts, mostly. They were lax about rules, taught him magic, and let him stay up late eating chocolate cake. He didn’t like the town kids who threw rocks at him and David. He didn’t like the whispers that followed him as he walked down the street, hisses of “witch,” pitched perfectly to meet his ears. He didn’t like when there was a knock on their door late at night, pulling his aunts away.

***

Jonny was ten the first time he peeked around the doorframe to the kitchen, he watched in horrified fascination as his Aunt Rebekah flipped through the old spell book while a harried woman sat at the counter, agitatedly tapping her fingers.

“Please, please,” she begged, “I want her to leave her husband. I want her to be with me. I want her to go mad with wanting me.”

Rebekah, looked up, finger paused halfway down the page, mid-spell. “Are you sure you want that? You don’t want to find someone better suited for you?”

“No, no,” the woman pled. “I want her. It has to be her. She’s all I think about.”

“Be careful what you wish for.” Maude cautioned mildly.

Jonny slipped away from the door, grabbing the paper he’d been using to practice basic summoning spells and heading to the greenhouse. He moved around the room, grabbing a few leaves from different plants -- rosemary, juniper, aster -- crushing the leaves with his fingertips, sprinkling them into his folded spell paper.

“You’ll hear my call a mile away. You’ll whistle my favorite song. You’ll have hands so soft you can score off a spin-o-rama. You’ll know how to flip pancakes in the air.”

David had followed Jonny out, as he usually did. A year younger and possessed of less magical talent, he could have been resentful, but instead David revered his older brother. “What are you doing?”

“Summoning up a true love spell,” Jonny said adding the petals of a daisy onto the small and growing pile of herbs. “You’ll be marvelously kind. Your favorite shape will be a star, and you’ll have bright blue eyes.”

“I thought you never wanted to fall in love,” David said.

“That’s the point, dummy, the guy I dreamed up doesn’t exist. And if he doesn’t exist, I’ll never die of a broken heart.”

Under David’s watchful eye, Jonny carried the cone of paper to the open window, and watched the wind carry his true love spell away.

***

“You’re really leaving?” Jonny asked again, holding the window open as David threw his duffle bag to ground with a dull thump.

“I gotta. I gotta get out of here,” David said, with all the careless confidence of his 17 years.

“Do you really love her that much, Davey?” Jonny asked, skeptically, eyeing Ann Marie waiting below. “Enough to leave?”

“What’s enough?” David said, shimmying down the drain pipe. “I hate it here. I want to go somewhere where nobody knows our name.”

***

Jonny thought his aunts might be mad the next morning when he told them David had run away. But they already knew, the hazard of having witches for one’s legal guardians he supposed.

***

Over the ensuing years, David went through women -- and more than a few men -- almost faster than Jonny and his aunts could keep track. After Ann Marie, there was a series of rodeo hands. His “cowboy phase,” Rebekah had said. Jonny wouldn’t repeat what Maude had called it. Then there had been Sarah, the waitress; Paul, the long haul truck driver; Peggy, Mae, and Casey: a teacher, a lawyer, and a Vegas showgirl respectively; and most recently: Mike, the plumber.

Jonny trailed behind his aunts down main street, trying not to flinch as people fell over themselves trying to get out of their way. His phone buzzed in his pocket.

“Hmmmm?” Maude asked distractedly, dropping a few coins in the outstretched hand of the corner busker.

“It’s David,” Jonny said, shaking his head a little. “He’s in Orlando”

“I guess that plumber is history,” Maude remarked snidely, smiling aggressively at the cluster of middle aged women gossiping about them at the table outside The Cup and Saucer.

“This is insane; he keeps going through all these people.” Jonny said.

“Hopefully one day, he’ll find a guy to go through him.”

“Rebekah!” Jonny said. Despite having grown up around his aunts’ bawdy sense of humor, Jonny will never stop feeling a little scandalized and a lot embarassed.

“Or girl. Either-or.” Rebekah continued, unfazed.

“All I want is a normal life” Jonny said, tilting his head up briefly, and walking right into a pretty girl coming out of The Book Worm. “Sorry,” Jonny apologized steadying her with a hand to her forearm.

She smiled her thanks and stepped around him.

“My dear boy,” Maude said, eyeing the clock display in the antique store’s window, “when are you going to understand that being normal isn’t a virtue. Rather, it denotes a lack of courage.”

“Well, it’s what I want,”Jonny said stubbornly.

“You see that couple?” Rebekah gestured at Mr. and Mrs. Haverforth coming out of the grocery. “He’s having an affair with the babysitter, and she can eat a pound cake in under a minute.”

Jonny stumbled slightly and bent to retie his shoelace. Maude and Rebekah looked at each other over his head and then back at the retreating figure of the pretty girl Jonny had bumped into. Maude raised a conspiratorial eyebrow and Rebekah smiled, snapping her fingers subtly in the folds of her skirt.

***

As it happened the pretty girl was Ella Lane, a recent transplant to Pumpkin Hollow. She’d come to teach third grade at the county elementary school. She liked old cars, dark beer, and when Jonny kissed her two weeks later, she tasted waxy and a little sweet from the bubblegum pink lipstick she wore.

***

Dear Davey,

Today is our our tenth anniversary, and all I have to show for it is two beautiful little girls and a wife that I can’t stop kissing. I wish you could see us in town, no more stones being thrown, no more taunts being shouted. Everything is blissfully normal; life is perfect.

***

Dear Jonny,

I’m lying in the sun, I’m hanging by the pool, I’ve got a million friends. You might say that life is perfect. But I don’t care about any of it. I only have two words to say to you: Aubrey Marcus.

***

When Jonny’s alarm went off on October 12th, for five perfect seconds, it seemed like any other day. And then he heard it: the awful chirping of a beetle. His heart skipped a beat as he saw the rumpled sheets on the other side of the bed.

“Ella,” he called out, not even trying to hide the panic in his voice.

“Downstairs,” she yelled.

He ran down the stairs, taking them two at a time and found her at the door zipping Lucy and Vivie into jackets.

“I’ll take them to school!” he shouted, all but pushing Ella down into a chair at the table. “I’m up! I’m up! I’ll take them.”

“Jonny,” Ella laughed, starting to stand, “you’re not even dressed.”

“Please,” Jonny said, “just let me take them.”

“Dad, we’re gonna be late,” Vivie whined.

“Five minutes,” Jonny pleaded, holding his hand out. “Five minutes. Promise me?” He looked at Ella.

The beetle was still chirping when Jonny left the house, exacting another promise from Ella that she wouldn’t do anything other than enjoy another cup of coffee.

He felt a little calmer after the girls were dropped off, he’d go home, kiss Ella, find the beetle, and everything would be fine. It would all be fine.

When he opened the door what he noticed first was the heavy oppressive silence: no muffled shuffling as Ella cleaned up from breakfast, no low drumbeat of water from the shower.

No chirping of the deathwatch beetle.

***

Jonny looks up at the old house he’d spent most of his childhood in: soaring turrets, crooked doorway, ramshackle roof. He squares his shoulders and picks up the suitcases he was carrying. “Lucy, Vivie, this is only temporary. There will be no chocolate for breakfast, homework will be done after dinner, teeth and hair brushed before bed.”

Maude and Rebekah usher them in off the porch. Jonny urges the girls up the winding staircase. “Mind the fifth step,” Rebekah warns, “it’s loose.”

Jonny feels the hint of a smile settle across his face watching his daughters jump the step just like he and Davey used to.

Once he and the aunts are alone, he lets himself sink into a hug. “It was the curse, wasn’t it? She died because I loved her so much?”

Rebekah pulls him closer, half-hugging him and half-dragging him into the kitchen, the overwhelming odor of lemon in the air. “We had no idea when we cast the spell.”

Jonny pulls up short, nearly tripping over the colorful rag rug on the floor, fingers shaking as the truth of the statement washes through him. “What spell? What are you talking about? Please tell me- oh no- you- you didn’t.”

Maude holds out a small chipped plate towards him, piled high with lemon bars, thick with powdered sugar. “It was just a little push. We wanted so much for you to be happy.”

“We never expected that you would truly love her,” Rebekah says.

“Well I did,” Jonny’s voice is choked, “I did. And I want her back.”

He knocks the proffered plate aside, causing another small chip to its gilt edge, and crosses over to the bay window, drawing his finger across the leather bound books stacked haphazardly there, until he finally finds the one that doesn’t have any markings adorning its thick spine.

He slams it down on the kitchen island, furiously flicking through the aged pages. “You brought her into my life. And now you have to bring her back. I have never asked you for anything!”

“No, dear,” Maude interrupts.

“We can’t do that,” Rebekah says.

“I know you can bring her back. I remember I found it when mom and dad died. You have to bring her back.” His voice is thick with unshed tears, and he feels painfully close to breaking down at the pitying looks on his aunt’s faces.

“Even if we did bring her back-” Rebekah starts.

“-It wouldn’t be Ella.” Maude continues. “It would be something dark. Something unnatural.”

“I don’t care what she comes back as, as long as she comes back.” Jonny’s voice cracks.

“Daddy?” Lucy says, arms wrapped around Vivie’s shoulders from where they’re standing in the doorway.

“It’s fine. Everything is fine.” Jonny says. “Upstairs, please, girls. I’ll be up in just a minute.” Once the girls leave, he turns back to his aunts with finality: “My children will never do magic.”

***

The sun streams through the glass window next to Jonny’s bed, weak winter light insistently filtering in despite the pillow he’s pulled over his head. He screws his eyes more tightly shut and tries to go back to sleep.

“Daddy?” Vivie calls, jostling the bed slightly. “Dad? It’s time for us to go to school.”

Jonny’s limbs feel heavy, like concrete moving through molasses, but he lifts the pillow off his head and pushes himself up to sitting. He presses a kiss to her temple, “‘m sorry baby,” his voice is soft and slurred with sleep. “I’m just so tired.”

Rebekah appears in the doorway, “Come on, Vivie, let’s go downstairs, Maude’s gonna take you and Lucy in on the way to the market.”

As Vivie passes Rebekah, she tucks an errant strand of Vivie’s hair behind her ear, and pulls her into a quick hug before patting her on her bottom and sending her on her way. She stares at Jonny for a while, assessing. Her gaze making him feel exposed. And grumpy. “What?” he says, sullen.

Rebekah raises an eyebrow at him, but comments mildly, “Plan on coming down for dinner tonight.” It’s clearly an order, not a request and Jonny nods, before settling back against his pillows.

***

Jonny drags himself to dinner, sock clad feet shuffling down the staircase. The house smells good: the delicious aroma of spaghetti and garlic bread wafting out from the kitchen. Unfortunately, it still does nothing to tempt his appetite.

He hears voices and laughter coming from the kitchen, but despite having heard the low rumble of a man’s voice, he’s still surprised to see David perched on the countertop regaling the aunts and his daughters with stories.

“Davey!” Jonny says, pulling his brother into a real hug. “I didn’t know you were coming!”

David pats him on the back twice, “Got an emergency summons from Rebekah, this morning,” he said. He looks over Jonny’s stained and tattered sweats and remarks dryly, “I can’t imagine why.”

***

Dinner is just what Jonny didn’t know he needed. He and Davey linger over plates piled high with spaghetti and meatballs long after Rebekah and Maude whisk the girls off to get ice cream in town.

Jonny stirs the remaining strands slowly, twirling them around the tines of his fork before dropping it untouched on his plate. “I was really, really happy. You know? We were gonna open up a botanical shop. I was gonna grow the ingredients, and Ella was going to make stuff.” He says, lips quirked in a half smile, “She made this mint oatmeal shaving cream that I loved. I couldn’t stop eating the stuff.” He looks up at David, “I’m sure this is all very boring to you- What kind of a name is Aubrey anyway?”

David laughs, wry. “He’s from somewhere near California. His parents were new-age flower children; he has this whole hippie-fighter thing about him. And he’s so intense, God, he talks about our relationship resonating through centuries.” David laughs. “Thank God for belladonna or I’d never get any sleep.”

“Davey,” Jonny chastises. “Why are you messing around with that stuff?”

“I’m not taking it! I’m just giving it to him every once in awhile.”

“So you’re drugging your boyfriend to get a little sleep.”

David shrugs one shoulder, careless as ever. “But he’s strong, you know, so much stronger than me. He can survive the curse.”

Jonny makes a noise in the back of his throat. It might be acknowledgment, it might be protest. He’s not sure.

“Do you forgive our father?” David asks. He’s stopped eating now, and is idly stacking the leftover garlic bread into a tower.

“Sometimes,” Jonny says, pushing his plate away from him. “It was pretty shitty to just give up, like we didn’t matter at all -- I’d never do that to Lucy and Vivie -- but - I don’t know. I guess that’s part of the curse too, right? Not just mom dying?”

“Maybe,” David levels him with a look. “But I’ll tell you one thing, you’ll never forgive yourself until you get your shit together, get dressed, take a shower -- because you fucking stink -- and take care of those sweet little girls.”

***

David stays a few more days, and while Jonny will never admit it aloud, he was right. Jonny did need to pull himself together.

Jonny wakes up early the next morning and takes a long run along the harbor before coming back to the house. He’s showered and fixing eggs before anyone else wakes up. He supposes the surprised expressions on Lucy’s and Vivie’s faces at seeing their father downstairs and wearing jeans and a sweater instead of faded UND athletic wear really speaks volumes about his behavior over the last few weeks.

***

A few days after David leaves, Jonny spreads house listings across the scarred wood of the kitchen table. He supposes he could keep the old house, but he knows he’ll never want to live there again, not without Ella.

He makes a pile of potentials, though the reject pile is far, far larger.

“Jonny,” Rebekah interrupts, setting down a cup of steaming tea in front of him, a flower inside unfurling prettily and wisps of steam curling into the air.

“Hmmm?” He murmurs, making a few more notes on a small bungalow near the center of town. This one seems promising.

“Maude and I have been talking,” she says, pulling out the chair across from him, and tapping his pile of real estate possibilities.

“Yeah?” He takes a sip of the chrysanthemum tea and picks up another listing.

“We think you and the girls should stay here.” She says, pulling the listing he’s currently marking up towards her and drawing his full attention. “And not just to finish out the school year.”

“What?” He asks, focused now on what’s she saying.

“We think you should stay here,” Rebekah repeats, dropping the flyer onto his reject pile. “This house is really too big for two old biddies; it’s been good to have some life in it again. We love having Lucy and Vivie running around.”

Jonny smiles. “Not too loud, then?”

“It’s wonderful.” Maude says firmly, appearing as if from thin air, and Jonny knows she probably did, the show-off. “You should stay with us, and put the money you’d put towards a new house into opening up that shop you’ve always talked about.”

“I don’t know,” Jonny demurs. The shop had been a dream he and Ella had together; the idea of doing it without her makes his throat ache.

“The little storefront next to the florist is open.” Rebekah says, patting his hand gently. “I told Mr. Anisimov you’d be by at noon tomorrow to look at it.”

“It needs a little love,” Maude acknowledges, “but we’ll help.”

Jonny takes another sip of the lightly sweetened tea. “I’ll think about it,” he says, “but I’m not promising anything.”

He manfully ignores the triumphant look his aunts share when they think he’s not looking.

***

Verbena opens up two months later. He has plans to turn the back patio space into a small garden next spring, but mid summer is a little late for planting. For right now, he’s relying on the stores from his aunts’ greenhouse get the shop up and running.

Maude and Rebekah had offered their services to assist in the store itself, but Jonny is determined that Verbena isn’t going to be a place to find under-the-counter love charms or potions of a questionable nature. Instead he’d hired Martha, a black-clad grad student from the nearby university who -- despite introducing herself as a pagan witch -- Jonny’s sure is completely normal.

The store is surprisingly successful; the residents of Pumpkin Hollow sneak in to buy Jonny’s homemade serums and creams and special tea blends, but they never linger. The cozy seating area Jonny installs at the front of the shop, velvet couches snugged into the bay window overlooking the street, is usually vacant. Lucy and Vivie, when they’re not out swimming in the lake or exploring the town, end up commandeering it, reading books and chattering loudly, bringing another kind of life into the shop.

Jonny glances over now, smiling at Lucy re-reading the second Harry Potter book, feet tucked up underneath her and Vivie’s brow creased in concentration as she plays cat’s cradle.

“Witch! Witch! You’re a bitch!” Jonny hears the chanting before he sees the culprits. “Witch! Witch! You’re a bitch!” Lucy’s cheeks turn red, and she ducks her head when the store window fills with five boys pointing fingers at her chanting “Witch! Witch! You’re a bitch!”

Jonny strides outside muttering under his breath. “You’d think after 300 years they’d come up with a better rhyme.”

Vivie follows closely on his heels and before Jonny can say anything to send the kids on their way, she shoots out her finger and screams, “I hope you get chicken pox!”

Jonny pulls her hand down. “What is the matter with you, we don’t cast!” He turns back to the growing cluster of kids and parents. “She was just kidding. Just kidding.”

“No she wasn’t, Dad,” Lucy offers helpfully, coming out of the storefront.

Once the crowd moves on, Jonny rounds on Vivie, “We don’t cast, and we don’t mess with people’s lives. Do you understand? This is not a game.”

“No, you don’t cast, and you probably couldn’t even if you tried.” Vivie cries, wrenching herself out of Jonny’s arms and into Lucy’s, sobbing. “He has so much power, and he doesn’t even use it.”

***

Jonny’s phone buzzes in his pocket she’ll get over it, J. she’s just a kid

He types back, I know, I just hate it when they’re mad at me.

I think I’m just being melancholy. There’s a circle around the moon tonight, a sign of trouble. He hits send a second time and waits for Davey’s response, but it never comes.

****

Jonny’s reading an old dog-eared copy of Walden in bed when the house phone starts ringing. He sits straight up, “Davey!”

He’s running down the stairs and meets his aunts on the landing. “David,” they say, worried, and in unison as if they’d rehearsed.

“I know,” Jonny says as he grabs the phone.

“I’m scared, come and get me.” David’s voice is barely above a whisper.

“I’m coming,” Jonny assures him. He turns to his aunts, “I’m taking the first flight out, you’ll have to watch the girls.”

“Of course, dear,” Rebekah soothes.

“Just go to David,” Maude orders. “The children will be fine.”

“We’ll take the girls to Solstice!” Rebekah says.

“What? No, no. Can’t you just stay home?” Jonny says shrugging into his jacket.

“We can’t back out now,” Maude says rebukingly. “We’re on the committee. We’re presenting!”

“Fine, fine, whatever,” Jonny picks up his duffel and pats his pockets to check for his wallet, keys and phone. “But I don’t want them dancing naked under the full moon.”

“Of course not, dear. The nudity is completely optional,” Rebekah says, “as you well remember.”

***

Jonny gets the first flight out, but he’d still be stuck cooling his heels for three hours at the airport if it weren’t for a surreptitious snap of his fingers that briefly speeds up time. He then suffers through the longest flight to Texas a person can take, complete with two layovers and one very talkative seatmate. He’s sadly not confident enough in his magical skills to try his hand messing around with anything while suspended in a flying tin can.

It’s almost morning when he finally arrives at David’s motel. He takes in the cracked and fading paint, the bars over the windows, and the neon sign with half the letters burned out. A shudder of distaste runs through him, and he takes the stairs two at time until he gets to room 212, knocking softly. “Davey?”

The door cracks open, security chain still on, before shutting again and opening fully. Jonny takes in David’s appearance: exhausted and gaunt, black eye and split lip.

“Davey,” Jonny says, pulling him into a tight hug, “Jesus, let’s get you out of here.”

“I’m fine. I’m fine,” David says, following Jonny out of the hotel, looking over his shoulder at regular intervals. “God, we’ve been driving for two weeks straight. Not even straight, he just zig zags back and forth all over the place. He’s been talking about ‘death being the wisest advisor a warrior can have.’ About making ’a trip into the unknown to seek the bones of truth.’ I don’t even fucking know.”

“Fuck,” Jonny agrees succinctly.

“Today, today he says he wants an almond milk latte and the kid behind the counter looked confused. Because of course he does, we’re in the middle of fucking rural Texas. And I said ‘They don’t have almond milk, baby, this isn’t a hippie coffee shop, he’s not a barista’ and the kid laughed, and I laughed, and then he punched me. Right in the eye. The bastard.”

“Jesus,” Jonny says, “let’s just get out of here before he wakes up.”

David looks up, fear draining the remaining color from his face, “Blood on the moon, blood on the moon. Where’s my tiger’s eye. I need my tiger’s eye. I gotta get my tiger’s eye.”

“Just forget it, just get in the car,” Jonny says, trying to force him into the passenger seat.

“No,” David says, breaking free from Jonny, “I gotta go get it.” He heads back to his room at a run.

Jonny waits a minute, but David doesn’t immediately reappear so he follows him up, pushing open the door, “Just forget the da-

He stops mid sentence. Aubrey’s apparently awoken, and he’s holding David tight to him, knife against his neck.

“Get in the car,” Aubrey says, voice sleep rough and deadly calm. “You’ll drive.”

***

They leave Jonny’s rental car at the motel, instead piling into Aubrey’s old Camaro: Jonny at the wheel and Aubrey and David in the backseat.

There’s no one on the road, thank fuck, and Jonny splits his attention between driving and keeping an eye on Aubrey and David in the rearview mirror.

Aubrey takes a swig of a milky white liquid from an unmarked bottle. “Ayahuasca,” he says, shoving the bottle towards Jonny. “Have some.”

“No thanks,” Jonny says, hands firmly at ten and two.

Aubrey just laughs maniacally and takes another swig.

Jonny meets David’s eyes in the rear view mirror, and it’s like David is speaking in his head, ”the belladonna is in my bag.”

Jonny glances over at the duffel on the seat next to him, trying to see where the vial of belladonna is, so that he can get it without drawing Aubrey’s attention.

“Jonny,” Aubrey says, voice slurred, “Do you ever think about the expectations the world’s placed upon you? You have to be rich, successful, beautiful, good, faithful, artistic, competitive, compassionate, famous wealthy… are you exhausted yet?” He laughs. “You try so hard to be perfect, but you’re sacrificing your true form. Fuck what society-”

Jonny spots the belladonna in one of the side pockets, and goes to retrieve it, car swerving.

“Fuck,” Aubrey screams, knife waving wildly. “Watch the road.”

“Shut up, just shut the fuck up. What you’re saying doesn’t even mean anything, you asshole. It’s just a bunch of fucking buzzwords. Just shut up, you’re freaking me out.” Jonny rambles, loud and incoherent, desperate to distract Aubrey. “Just give me the bottle, give me the bottle, before I plow us into a-”

Jonny rips the half-filled bottle out of Aubrey’s hand, cracking it sharply against the center console and chipping the rim. He pretends to take a large swig before upending the vial of belladonna into the swirling liquid. His attention is half on the empty road in front of him, and half on the slowly dissolving flakes of belladonna. Jonny’s stomach in a painful knot, lest Aubrey notice anything suspicious. His hand is shaking when he hands the bottle back to Aubrey, but he takes it, swigging deeply and without care.

David meets Jonny’s eyes in the mirror again, “It’s done.” Jonny thinks, projecting it with all his might. He watches until he sees David give a tiny, almost imperceptible, nod.

Jonny keeps driving and Aubrey keeps rambling about life and death and his million different selves. “Pull over, I gotta take a piss,” he orders.

“He should have passed out by now, you didn’t give him enough,” David says, as they wait in the car.

“I gave him plenty.” Jonny argues. “What’s he gonna do?”

“Just stay calm.” David says as Aubrey heads back toward the car.

Aubrey opens the door, “I want you to be with me, I want you to be with me,” he lunges for David, getting both hands around his neck so fast that David’s rendered immobile from shock. He falls on top of David, a heavy weight, chanting the whole time, “I want you to be with me.”

“Hey, stop, stop,” Jonny screams, trying pull Aubrey off of David. He tries to get Aubrey in a chokehold, but he’s moving too much and the angle is all wrong in the car; he resorts to punching him repeatedly in the head. David’s underneath him, prying at Aubrey’s hands, trying to create a little space to get some air into his own lungs.

“Stop, stop, he’s out,” David says, trying to push Aubrey off of him. “He’s passed out.”

Jonny’s a big guy, but it still takes him a bit of effort to pull Aubrey off of David, his body a limp, dead weight.

“Oh my God, oh my God!” David says, voice panicked the moment he sees Aubrey’s face. “He’s dead. Oh my God. How much did you give him, Jonny?”

“I don’t know, Davey, I wasn’t using a measuring cup. He was trying to kill you.”

Together, they roll Aubrey into the footwell of the car.

“God,” David pleads climbing up into the front seat, on his knees and staring back at Aubrey’s lifeless body, “If you get me out of this, I’ll be good. I’ll get married, I’ll have kids. I’ll be normal-”

“I had normal!” Jonny screams. “I have kids, and I had normal, and I worked really hard to get that normal. And from this moment on I’ll never have that normal again.”

“It’s all my fault,” David says, “I didn’t mean to ruin your life, I just had no one else to turn to.”

“Just fucking turn around and sit down.”

David complies, and they start driving; Jonny taking them back to Pumpkin Hollow by unspoken agreement. The car is eerily silent, and if Jonny looks over his shoulder he can see the lifeless body of Aubrey in the backseat of the car. “We have to go the police,” he says. “It was self defense.”

“You call slowly poisoning him to death self defense?” David scoffs, incredulous. “Come on, Jonny, they’re never gonna believe us.”

“I really don’t want to lose my children,” Jonny says, voice thick.

“I don’t want you to, either.” David trails off.

“What are you thinking?”

“When Ella died you went to the aunts and you asked them to bring her back-”

“Yeah, but they wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t, not couldn't!”

“No, no, they were right,” Jonny says shaking his head. “He’d come back as something dark and unnatural.”

“Aubrey already is dark and unnatural.” David exclaims, clearly warming to the idea. “I don’t care what he comes back as, as long as he comes back with a pulse.”

“No, not an option, Davey, not a choice.”

“We don’t have a choice, Jonny, this is our choice.”

Jonny makes a token protest, but it’s weak, and David clearly knows he’s won.

****

They drive all night, aided by a small enchantment Jonny murmurs to speed their way, until they reach the house in Pumpkin Hollow. Jonny says a silent prayer of thanks that the solstice celebrations always last a few days and the aunts and his girls are safely out of the way.

Jonny curses the entire time he’s helping David drag Aubrey’s heavy body into the house, before dumping Aubrey with a dull thud onto the floor in the foyer.

Jonny goes to the kitchen to gather the spellbook and the necessary ingredients. He hasn’t done more than tiny household spells and other small enhancements in years; he can’t believe he’s going to do this spell. “You owe me big time,” he calls out.

He comes back into the foyer with the spell book, some chalk, and the necessary herbs and instructs David to draw a circle around the body and to spread Aubrey’s limbs out to form an “X.” Jonny anoints Aubrey’s temples with oil and starts murmuring the incantation, “Black as night, erase death from our sight. White as light, mighty Hectate make it right.”

There’s a violent a crack and Aubrey’s eyes fly open. Almost instantaneously, he’s off the floor, hands tightly wrapped around David’s neck. “Explore the unknown, explore the unknown with me.”

Jonny darts back to the kitchen and grabs the first heavy thing he sees: Rebekah’s old cast iron skillet. He runs back to the foyer and slams it down on Aubrey’s head, killing him -- again -- with one swift blow.

Aubrey hits the floor with a dull thud, and Jonny drops the skillet with a clang. Wiping the back of his hand across his forehead, he levels a gaze at David, “You have the worst taste in men.”

“I know, I’m sticking to women after this.”

Jonny huffs out an involuntary laugh. “Right, let’s just get him outside. We can bury him in the back of the garden.”

“Jonny,” David says, “I just really want to say, thank you.”

“Let’s just put this behind us, eh?” Jonny says. “I mean you’re gonna owe me for basically forever…”

“Yeah, yeah.” David says. “Shit! What are we gonna tell the aunts?”

“Nothing.” Jonny says firmly. “Absolutely nothing.”

***

The aunts aren’t surprised to see David at home when they return from Solstice, though Rebekah does tsk under her breath while applying a mugwort poultice to the cuts on David’s face.

They are surprised, however, when David tells them over porridge a few mornings later that he’s planning on staying, indefinitely.

Lucy and Vivie cheer excitedly, “Uncle Davey! Uncle Davey!”

“Well,” Jonny says, allowing a smile, “if you’re going to stay here, you can help me down at the shop.”

***

A few weeks after David arrives back in Pumpkin Hollow, he and Jonny and the aunts are getting drunk on pina coladas when David starts teasing Jonny, “I see a man in your future. He’s gorgeous and -- hey -- he is big, but you’re scared to death. And you wind up bitter and alone.”

The aunts and Jonny stop laughing and stare at him.

“That was weird,” David says, forcing a laugh and trying to shake it off, “I wonder where that came from.”

“David’s never been interested in his gifts,” Maude says.

“Davey has his own magic,” Rebekah teases, “and we all know what it is.”

“Since when is sleeping around a crime in this family?” Jonny asks.

“Oh honey, what would you know about it?” Rebekah laughs.

Maude pours more rum into the blender. Something about the bottle catches Jonny’s eye, and he takes it from her hand, turning the unmarked bottle with a chipped rim over in his hand. “Where did this bottle come from?” he asks, a note of panic in his voice. “Where did this bottle come from?”

“Someone left it on the porch,” Rebekah sings topping off everyone’s glass.

Jonny throws the bottle into the sink, where it shatters, shocking the room into silence.

“What’s going on here?” Maude asks, previously soft slurred voice going sharp and tight. “What’s going on in this house?”

“Something’s going on, I can smell it,” Rebekah says.

“Yes, it’s a very distinct smell of bullshit.” Maude agrees.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” David says, eyes downcast and voice hesitant.

“Broom fell,” Rebekah says mildly, addressing the clatter in the corner of the kitchen, “company is coming.”

Maude and Rebekah stare pointedly at Jonny and David. “We had a problem,” Jonny says, “we handled it.”

“We deserve an explanation.” Maude says, but neither Jonny nor David say anything. “Right. Come on, Rebekah, let’s go.” They storm out of the kitchen.

“No, no. It’s not possible, Jonny,” David whispers. “Don’t even think it.

“Tell me how that bottle got here, Davey.”

But, of course, he can’t; he doesn’t even try.

***

The next morning the sun seems to be literally coming up inside of the kitchen, light bouncing off the white tiles and stainless steel appliances and boring holes into Jonny’s eyes. The headache Jonny woke up with has settled behind his eyes, and he makes a mental promise never to drink again.

Lucy and Vivie tumble into the kitchen, already dressed for summer camp. Vivie’s playing Hot Cross Buns on her recorder.

David drops leftover muffins in front of the girls and says to Jonny sotto voce. “Make her stop, I’ll do whatever it takes.”

“Honey?” Jonny asks Vivie, “Can I see that? Yeah? Thanks.” He tosses the offending recorder into the hallway, where it rolls and clatters to a stop.

Lucy laughs and smiles, teeth full of blueberries. Jonny scrubs a mark off her cheek and his eye catches at something. “Where’d you get that ugly thing around your neck.”

“The aunts gave it to us,” Lucy says, raising a hand to finger at the braided rope. “They said it would protect us.”

David catches Jonny’s eyes, raising his eyebrows. Jonny shrugs slightly in response.

“Baby,” Jonny ruffles Lucy’s hair, “Go get me some mint from the garden before we leave, okay? Thank you.” He walks over to the pantry, rifling through bins that Rebekah and Maude swear are organized, despite Jonny finding no rhyme or reason to it. “Where is the aspirin?”

He glances back at the kitchen, but Lucy’s still in the kitchen, standing at the backdoor. “Lucy, go. Please do as I say.”

“No,” she says. “Not while he’s out there.”

“Who?” Jonny asks coming to stand by her, aspirin bottle in his hand forgotten. He looks out the plate glass.

“The man under the roses,” Lucy says.

Jonny looks down at Lucy, her attention still focused out the window. “I don’t see him. Where?”

“By the roses,” Lucy says pointing. “They weren't here yesterday.”

“Oh shit.” Jonny whispers. He doesn’t see a man, but he does see a thicket of roses, seemingly grown overnight, right over the spot he and and David had disposed of Aubrey’s body. He pitches his voice falsely bright, “Okay sweetie, we’ll get rid of it.”

Jonny turns towards David and hisses, “you better call the aunts. Now. Where are they anyway?”

“Too many pina coladas,” David says, pinching the bridge of his nose and shutting his eyes to the near blinding brightness.

“They left,” Vivie interrupts innocently.

“They said to give you a message,” Lucy says, “clean up your own damn mess.”

***

Jonny gets the girls to camp without much fanfare. He has to turn back once to get Vivie’s recorder and once because Lucy left her lunch, but eventually they’re off.

When he gets back, David’s still in the kitchen. He hasn’t moved from where he’d collapsed onto a dining chair. His hands are shaking so much he can’t even hold his coffee mug without the now tepid liquid sloshing over the side.

“Go to bed,” Jonny urges, “Just go lie down.” He sends a withering look out the window at the tangle of rose bushes. “I’ll handle it.”

He pulls on old work boots and a threadbare hoodie, the sleeves long since cut off, grabbing the axe that’s by the backdoor and sets to work. He’s hacking at the bush violently, when he hears the crunch of gravel behind him. He glances over his shoulder half expecting to see the visage of one Aubrey Marcus, but instead is met with a half smile from a very handsome blond man.

“Kinda early for roses, isn’t it?” he asks, pulling a black wallet out of his back pocket and flipping it open so a silver badge and ID card shows. “Patrick Kane, Special investigator. I’m with the State Prosecutor's Office out of Buffalo.”

Jonny feels a bubble of panic rise up hot within him, and he takes a deep breath, working to keep his voice even. “And what brings you to our small town, officer?”

“Please, it’s just Patrick,” he says, his eyes sweeping up to meet Jonny’s. “I’m hoping to talk to your brother, David. He might have some info on a case I’m working on,” he says, returning his wallet to his back pocket.

“How’d you know I was his brother?” Jonny asks, drawing his forearm across his face to catch the sweat there.

Patrick puts his hands in his pockets, and rocks back slightly on his heels, “Lucky guess? Or brilliant investigative instincts. Hard to say which.”

Jonny levels him with a gaze, “Why don’t you come inside?” He tosses the axe to the ground, kicking aside some of the detritus of the rose bush and leads Patrick up to the house.

“You can wait here,” he says, nodding towards the kitchen table. “I’ll go get Davey- David.”

Jonny makes an effort to walk at a normal pace out of the room, but takes the stairs at a near run, busting into David’s room, “Davey! Davey! Davey! There’s a cop outside, and he’s looking for Aubrey, and he wants to talk to you and -- oh God -- I think I’m having a heart attack.”

David sits up. “Calm down. Okay, think. Question: how much does he know?”

“He seems like he knows an awful lot.” Jonny puts a hand to the back of his neck. “And I know this sounds crazy, but I don’t think I can lie to him.”

“Lie to him? Of course you can lie to him.” David says, getting out of bed. “Okay. Okay. Here’s the story: I left him because he hit me, and I haven't seen him since. Just let me handle the rest.”

“Okay.” Jonny says, feeling slightly calmer. “Okay, I can do that.” He turns to leave the room.

“Wait!” David stops him. “Is he cute?”

Jonny feels his face heat, “Yeah, he’s, uh, nice. Cute. In a very penal code sort of way, but yeah.”

“Hmmm,” David murmurs.

****

Jonny returns to the kitchen, ready to offer Patrick coffee and stall until David comes down, but it’s empty. He’s about ready to tell David that the officer inexplicably left when he hears the soft shuffling noises of someone moving around in the attached greenhouse.

He enters to find Patrick walking the different aisles, aimlessly trailing his fingers across plant leaves and scanning the room.

“Just herbs.” Jonny says, working hard to keep his voice in a flat monotone. He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. “You know, from the garden.”

“Oh!” Patrick startles but quickly recovers his equanimity.

“So, what brings you up to Pumpkin Hollow? I mean, Davey hasn’t even lived here since high school.”

“Uh, this,” Patrick says, pulling out a white envelope. The slanted writing immediately recognizable to Jonny as his own.

“You read my letter.” Jonny says, affronted. “That’s a very personal letter.”

“Yes, I guess it was.”

Jonny leads Patrick back into the kitchen, where they find David waiting.

“Good morning, Mister...” David says with an overly bright smile.

“Kane. Patrick Kane. Listen I’m not gonna beat around the bush, I need to find your boyfriend.”

David perches on the counter. “I don’t know where he is. And I wouldn’t exactly call him my boyfriend, more like my big mistake.”

“That his handiwork there?” Patrick asks gesturing to the yellowed healing bruise on David’s face.

“A man hits me, he only does it once.”

“So you have no idea where he is?” Patrick asks, pulling a chair towards him, flipping it around and straddling the seat. Jonny marvels that even sitting down, Patrick still has clear command of the room.

“He hit me, and I haven’t seen him since.”

“And when was that,” Patrick asks, bright blue eyes never leaving David’s face.

“Two weeks ago?” David looks over at Jonny questioningly.

Jonny nods.

“Yeah, two weeks ago,” David confirms.

“Right.” Patrick says dryly. “And who’s car is that in the driveway, the one with the Texas plates?”

“Oh, that’s my car,” David says, swinging his legs with what Jonny knows is nervous energy.

Patrick stands up and walks towards David, “That’s Aubrey Marcus’ car. Come on now.”

“We stole it!” Jonathan interjects, feeling unaccountably flustered when Patrick turns his gaze towards him. “We stole it, and that’s a crime. I know this. But he basically kidnapped Davey.”

“Kidnapped him?” Patrick asks, looking between Jonny and David.

“Jonny!” David interjects, hopping down from the counter.

“Whoa, Whoa,” Patrick shakes his head a little, like he’s trying to clear it.

“No, he didn’t really kidnap him. He sorta- just- It was like a- a- little nap.”

“What are you doing,” David hisses through clenched teeth.

“There was a car- what happened-” Jonny can feel himself rambling, it’s almost like an out of body experience. He knows he’s talking too much, but he just can’t shut himself up. “You should know, he has the worst taste in men.”

David makes a noise of protest.

Jonny turns towards him, “Well you do.” He looks back at Patrick. “He does. So I picked Davey up and drove him right back here. And we can give him back his car. Because it’s a crime. And, as you say, you just don’t know where he is. To give him back his car.” He finishes lamely.

“So you don’t know where he is?” Patrick says slowly.

“No?” Jonny says.

“Right.”

Patrick sits down at the table again, gesturing to the empty chairs. “Sit. Please.” He pulls some papers from his coat pocket, worn and creased from being folded and unfolded, and smooths them out on the table. “This is Duncan Keith. He was found strangled on the side of the road, uh two years ago now, with a shit ton of caapi and chacruna in his blood stream and a crudely drawn Peruvian symbol on his chest.”

He pauses, looking between David and Jonny, and Jonny feels like Patrick’s seeing into his soul. After a long moment, Jonny drops his eyes back down to the table and picks up the other picture. “Who’s this?”

“Johnny Oduya,” Patrick says without looking at the picture. “We found him two years before that. Same deal. So any help you two could give me in finding your old friend Aubrey here, would be much appreciated.”

***

David and Jonny promise Patrick any assistance they can offer and send him on his way. A few days later, Jonny’s pleased to hear from Martha who heard from her boyfriend, Scott, who heard from his mom, Mrs. Darling, who heard from her brother Chuck -- who operates the toll booth on the main road into town -- that Patrick Kane, Special Investigator apparently beat it out of Pumpkin Hollow after being there only one night.

Jonny can’t believe his good fortune that they got off so easily. Sure, the rose bush won’t stay gone no matter how many times Jonny cuts it down, and yes, the aunts are still not back from wherever they fucked off to, and fine, each passing day sees David acting increasingly moody and withdrawn; but all the same no one’s been arrested, and Jonny’s still getting to tuck Lucy and Vivie into bed every night.

He supposes, therefore, that he shouldn’t be as surprised as he is to see Patrick strolling down Main Street a month later, notebook out and absentmindedly chewing the heck out a pen. Jonny’d been out front on the sidewalk across from Verbena, double-checking the placement of the his new autumn signs (“Fall in Love With Our New Skincare Line!” and “You Won’t Be-leaf How Good A Sugar Scrub Can Be!” and “Our New Pumpkin Spice Hair Serum is #SquashGoals”) when Patrick all but bumps into him.

“Hello, Patrick,” Jonny says moments before Patrick sends them both crashing to the sidewalk, his focus fully concentrated on his notebook.

Patrick stops up short, smile slowing dawning, as he nods his head in recognition, “Mr. Toews, we meet again.”

“Back in Pumpkin Hollow? Just visiting? Doing a little leaf peeping?” Jonny asks, trying to keep his voice even and not seem too interested in the answer, though he desperately is.

“Leaf peeping? Are you 80?” Patrick says, glancing over at Verbena. He huffs out a surprised laugh, “Punny,” he says dryly.

“I like a good pun,” Jonny says with a shrug. “Everybody’s a hater,” he mumbles under his breath.

Patrick really laughs this time, a loud bright thing that attracts a few stares from other townspeople walking down the street. “Not hatin’ -- a little surprised you know what #squadgoals is -- but I’m not hatin’.”

“I could have an Instagram,” Jonny says, biting the inside of his mouth to keep from smiling.

“But…” Patrick draws out.

“Yeah, okay, Lucy and Vivie -- uh, my daughters -- helped come up with that one.”

“That’s more like it.” Patrick laughs again. “My baby sister would like that though; might have to get her some of that serum too, she’s pumpkin spice obsessed.”

“Christmas is coming up,” Jonny says with a small smile.

“Christmas is four months away,” Patrick counters.

Jonny laughs, “I own a shop, Christmas is always coming up.”

Patrick just shakes his head with a chuckle, “You got an answer for everything, Toews, that I can already tell.” He sidesteps around Jonny, and continues on down the street, “See ya around Toews,” he calls back over his shoulder, turning his head one last time to grin at Jonny, dimple flashing distractingly.

“Bye,” Jonny says, but Patrick already is long gone.

****

Over the next few few weeks Jonny almost gets used to seeing Patrick about town. He pops up first at the the girls’ back to school bake sale. “Black Bean Brownies?” Patrick grimaces. “You’re Mr. No Fun Dad, huh?”

“I’m fun,” Jonny says archly. “I just think it’s more fun when your dessert tastes good and happens to be good for you.” He takes one off the plate, wrapping it in a napkin. “Here, try one, it’s tasty.”

Patrick reaches into his back pocket for his wallet.

“On the house,” Jonny says.

Patrick grins, slapping a dollar onto the table, “Like I’m gonna stiff a bunch of kids.” He smiles wider, dimples popping, making Jonny’s stomach do terrible fizzy things, before gamely trying a bite. “Not terrible,” he concedes, unable to keep the surprise from his voice.

“Told you,” Jonny says feeling unaccountably smug.

“Yeah, yeah,” Patrick says finishing the brownie in two quick bites and licking the remnants of sticky chocolate from his fingers. Jonny can’t help tracking the broad swipes of tongue and his cheeks heat when Patrick catches his eye with a wink.

“Catch ya later, Toews,” is all Patrick says, though, tapping his hand once more on the table.

“Jonny!” Jonny calls after him, “you should call me Jonny.”

Jonny finds himself watching Patrick as he makes his way around the bake sale, marveling at how Patrick clearly keeps so fit, eating so many treats. He’s absentmindedly admiring the way Patrick’s sweater pulls across his broad shoulders, when his reverie is interrupted by Matthew’s half-deaf grandma, Frances.

“Go arrest him!” Frances all but yells.

Jonny’s not sure if Patrick’s trying to be subtle in his inquiries about Jonny and his family, but if so talking to Frances was a mistake. “He owns a shop where he cooks up placenta, and that’s why the aunts don’t age. I tell you, they just don’t age.”

“He’s selling placentas?” Jonny hears Patrick ask, incredulous.

“Placenta bars,” Frances says firmly.

Jonny can’t help the little bark of a laugh that escapes from his mouth, drawing both Patrick’s and Frances’ attention to him. “Don’t worry,” Jonny says to Patrick who’s looking increasingly green, “yours just had the black beans in it. The placenta costs extra.”

He doesn’t have time to wait for Patrick’s response since at that moment Vivie and Lucy race up giggling, mouths rimmed in chocolate, begging for more money to try their hand at the cake walk and because they just “need to try Mrs. Hossa's Buckeyes. Come on, Dad, please?”

Jonny reluctantly hands over the requested money, but performs a quick little spell once the girls have run off that ensures their luck at the cakewalk is nonexistent. He doesn’t even feel guilty about it. Much.

***

A few nights later, Jonny runs into Patrick as he and the girls are leaving the school’s auditorium. Jonny knows he’s biased, but he thought Lucy made a perfect Cinderella and Vivie stole the show as Pig Number Two in A Mixed Up Fairy Tale.

Patrick’s surrounded by a cluster of kids, some still in their play costumes all talking over each other to be heard.

“On Halloween, they jump off the roof and fly!” Jonny hears Crystal say.

“If they get mad, they hex you.” Liam interjects.

“They can make it rain!” Charlie says. “On your birthday!”

“If they don’t like you, they make you get chickenpox!” Barbara says.

Jonny clears his throat, and the kids scatter.

Patrick looks over at him sheepish.

“You should stick around for Halloween,” Jonny says, ignoring his daughters pulling on his sweater and urging him to come to the car already. “We really do put on a show,” Jonny says, locking eyes with Patrick and holding his gaze.

“You fly?”

“I guess you’ll have to come and find out.” Jonny says dry and teasing.

“Dad, I’m starving,” Vivie interrupts. “I’m wasting away to nothing.”

“Let’s go Dad, you promised us ice cream.” Lucy says.

Jonny turns to his daughters, “I did? That doesn’t sound like me.”

“Daaaad,” Vivie whines, stomping a little foot so hard it makes the curly tail on her pig costume wiggle hilariously.

Jonny laughs, “Alright, I guess I did.” And before he knows what he’s doing, he hears himself saying, “You like ice cream, Patrick?”

“I don’t know.” Patrick says, a teasing lilt to his voice. “Is it real ice cream or ice cream with spinach in it? Ice cream made of kidney beans? Ice cream with no sugar? Ice cream made-”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jonny interrupts, he rubs the side of his neck with a rueful grin. “It’s real ice cream. Homemade -- not by me,” he hastens to assure. “It’s good, and if you’re going to be hanging out in Pumpkin Hollow asking everyone in town about me, you might as well ask Brent and Dayna too and try some of their award winning Double Chocolate Crunch.”

“Award winning?” Patrick asks, falling into step with Jonny as they head towards the car.

“State fair, ten years running,” Jonny assures him, before jumping in to break up the fight between Vivie and Lucy over who gets to ride shotgun. “Neither of you,” Jonny says, “Patrick’s sitting up front.”

“But it’s my turn, Lucy sat up front on the way here,” Vivie whines, before Jonny quells her with a look.

“I can sit in the back,” Patrick says.

Jonny draws his eyes up and down Patrick, enjoying the way it makes Patrick’s cheeks flush. “I guess your legs are short enough.”

“Hey!” Patrick huffs, vaguely affronted.

Jonny laughs, “I’m kidding, I’m just kidding. Get in the front.” He pitches his voice a little louder, “And no fussing, girls, or no ice cream.”

“Your dad game is strong,” Patrick teases, strapping himself in.

“Damn straight,” Jonny agrees with a grin.

***

Vivie pulls Patrick into Cherry on Top Creamery chattering animatedly about the differences between waffle cones and regular cones, and encouraging him to try the pistachio ice cream with chocolate sprinkles. “Maybe,” Patrick demurs, smiling down at her, “I’ve gotta see all my flavor options first.”

“That’s smart,” Lucy agrees sagely, “sometimes they have seasonal flavors. I can never decide until we’re here.”

“Very wise,” Patrick says, sharing a small smile over her head with Jonny.

Vivie orders her pistachio, Lucy finally settles on sweet corn, and Patrick decides on the award winning double chocolate chunk. “I’ll take a small scoop of raspberry sorbet,” Jonny orders, handing over his credit card.

“Sorbet?” Patrick wrinkles his nose in a way that Jonny is working very hard not to find charming. They settle into an open booth. “Pretty boring dude.”

“Daddy’s lactose intolerant,” Vivie informs him taking a big bite of her ice cream.

“Well, I guess that’s alright then,” Patrick allows, licking the tip of his cone in a very distracting manner. Patrick catches Jonny staring and smiles broadly, cheeks dimpling.

Jonny drops his gaze and takes a large bite of his sorbet until he can only focus on the brain freeze and not the embarrassed heat of his cheeks.

***

The next time he sees Patrick, Jonny’s walking down the street, arms full of herbs and plants from the aunts’ greenhouse that he needs to fill some special orders at the shop.

“-don’t know about this Aubrey,” he hears, the name catching his attention, and he sees Hannah Kravitz gesticulating wildly and talking to Patrick. “But I would not be surprised if you find him in a ditch somewhere.”

Beth Anderson -- bless her -- owner of The Cup and Saucer Jonny’s favorite cafe, butts in, “Hannah!” She scolds, shaking her head as she turns to Patrick. “She’s not saying they murdered him. Just that maybe they - they shook his hand, and he died. It’s very mysterious.”

“Good morning!” Jonny interrupts, voice falsely bright. He takes real pleasure in the embarrassed wash of color suffusing Beth’s face and in how quickly Hannah suddenly remembers a very important appointment, scurrying away.

“Looks like you need some help,” Patrick says easily, taking the top crate from the stack in Jonny’s hands before Jonny can move out of reach. He tilts his head down and takes an audible sniff. “Smells good, what is it?”

“Lemon Verbena.”

“Like your shop.”

“Quite.” They stand on the sidewalk facing each other for a long moment. “I can carry it all,” Jonny says, shifting his load a little, “seems like you’re in the middle of something.”

“Nah,” Patrick says, smiling a goodbye at Beth again before heading down the street. “I’m done for now.”

Jonny follows him, catching up quickly and falling into step beside him. They make it to Verbena in no time at all. Jonny greets Martha before dropping his crates onto his back workspace. Patrick follows, hands knocking into Jonny’s as he deposits the lemon verbena.

“Careful,” Jonny says dryly, “wouldn’t want you touch me too long and accidentally end up dead in a ditch somewhere.”

Patrick gives him a filthy up and down glance that leaves Jonny hot and thinking about things that have no place in his clean and cheerful shop. “That is something I’m really not too worried about.”

Before Jonny can retort, the shop door is opening with a violent tinkle of the little bell hung to announce customers.

“I have a bone to pick with you,” Niklas Hjalmarsson, Pumpkin Hollow’s fishmonger, storms in.

“What can I do for you, Niklas?” Jonny asks, turning from Patrick.

“Now I could have gone to a qualified doctor to tend to this scalp condition of mine, but I didn’t. I came to you.” Niklas says, putting a small unmarked jar down on the counter and pushing it towards Jonny. “The more I use, the less it works. The product doesn’t work. It doesn’t work.”

Jonny pauses, schooling his features and tamping down the urge to laugh, “That’s because it doesn’t go on your head.”

“If I don’t put it on my head where the hell else would it go?”

“Try to remember,” Jonny says with a meaningful look, staring at him intently before flicking his eyes down quickly and back up.

There’s a pause in which Jonny can literally see the light of understanding dawn in Niklas’ eyes. “My mistake,” he says grabbing his jar and scurrying from the store.

Jonny at least waits until the door slams shut to start laughing. Martha and Patrick do not exercise the same restraint.

***

Jonny manfully brews his own coffee for three days, bringing it in from home in one of his Aunt Maude’s travel mugs, embarrassingly inscribed I like my coffee like I like my flashes: hot!. Martha had laughed for a good five minutes the first day he carried it in.

Eventually, Jonny decides that the only person he’s punishing here is himself. He leaves Martha in charge for a bit, promising to grab her a latte, and heads next door to The Cup and Saucer.

It’s quite busy for mid-morning on a Tuesday, as Jonny joins the line waiting to order. He lets himself enjoy the heavenly aroma of coffee that isn’t burnt. He’s quite adept at potions, makes all the salves and ointments Verbena sells by hand, but he couldn’t coax a potable cup of coffee out of Maude’s old coffee pot if his life depended on it. Even David has long since given up trying, drinking instant coffee when he can’t be bothered to come into town, which is more often than not these days.

Jonny’s eying the bakery case, laden with vegan donuts and fresh fruit tarts, and he’s contemplating treating himself when he hears a familiar voice.

“-nny Toews?” Patrick asks.

Jonny whips his head in the direction of the voice, and he sees Patrick talking to Widow Bartlett over by the fireplace tucked in the corner. He doesn’t think they know he’s there.

Beth turns on the espresso machine just then and the loud whirr drowns out the first part of Widow Bartlett’s answer, but Jonny catches the end “-if anyone dared take on a Toews, well they lived briefly in the euphoria of their love, before meeting an untimely death.”

“The curse.” Patrick says. It’s not a question Jonny notes. He says it like fact, which Jonny supposes it is.

Hearing Patrick speak about it so plainly makes Jonny’s stomach feel heavy. He has no business being disappointed, he tells himself firmly. He doesn’t.

Jonny orders his and Martha’s drinks quickly, all thoughts of a mid-morning treat gone. He’s careful not to look over towards Patrick again, and puts his earbuds in so he doesn’t have to hear any more about how his love is a curse.

He smiles a quick thanks to Beth, who comps his coffee with a soft apology for her words on the street, and makes his way back to his shop with his head down. He’s nearly there when a hand juts in front of him, barring him from opening the door. Patrick plucks the headphones from Jonny’s ears.

“You’re fast,” he says. “I was calling for you.”

“I didn’t hear.” Jonny says, which is even mostly true.

Patrick makes a considering noise, but lets it go, following Jonny into the quiet shop, plopping down a small paper bag in front of Jonny. “Vegan apple tart,” he says by way of explanation.

“Thanks,” Jonny says, somewhat mollified, even though he has no real reason to be upset with Patrick. Well, besides the fact that he’s investigating Jonny and David for Aubrey’s disappearance that is. Come to think of it, why is he being so nice to Patrick?

“-nny. Earth to Jonny,” Patrick sing-songs.

“What?” Jonny says, shaking his head to clear it.

“Welcome back,” Patrick says with a laugh.

“Am I under some kind of surveillance?” he asks sharply, tart going untouched.

“Should you be?” Patrick counters, annoyingly calm.

“If there’s something you want to know, just ask me,” Jonny says, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Already did that,” Patrick says, “and all I can tell you is there appears to be something missing from your story. Now, if there’s something you want to tell me, how about I come by your house, tomorrow morning? Ten o’clock?”

“Fine,” Jonny says, the fight going out of him, leaving him tired.

“It’s a date,” Patrick says, picking up the tart from the counter and taking a large bite. “Not bad. See you tomorrow, Jonny.”

***

“What do you mean you invited that- that man over to our house?” David asks. Lucy and Vivie look over at him curiously from where they’re working on their homework. “Are you trying to get us arrested?” He hisses.

Jonny makes a face at him and goes back to stirring the marinara sauce.

The phone rings from the hallway and no one moves. “I’ll just go get it then,” Jonny says, rolling his eyes.

“Okay!” David says, voice falsely bright and passive aggressive.

He makes a face at Jonny’s retreating back and goes to retrieve the spellbook. He’s flipping through it looking for an easy banishing spell or potion when a small scrap of paper flutters out.

Lucy snatches it up, “‘You’ll hear my call a mile away. You’ll whistle my favorite song. You’ll have hands so soft you can score off a spin-o-rama. You’ll know how to flip pancakes in the air. You’ll be marvelously kind. Your favorite shape will be a star, and you’ll have bright blue eyes.’ What is this?”

David smiles, a real one this time, some of his anger at Jonny draining away. “It was a spell your Dad made up when he was about your age.”

“What’s a spin-o-rama?” Lucy asks, drawing her finger along the words of the spell.

“It’s a hockey play,” David starts, “You know your dad used to play hockey, right?”

“Duh!” Lucy says, sounding every inch the pre-teen she is. “He used to play in a beer league, but not since mom died.”

That’s actually news to David, but he doesn’t let it show. “Well a spin-o-rama’s a play in hockey. A pretty hard one, you have to be pretty good to pull it off.”

“Was this spell about mommy?” Vivie asks.

“Yeah, yeah it was.” David says.

“But Mom had brown eyes,” Lucy says shrewdly. “And she hated hockey. She used to say it smelled worse than anything in the whole world.”

“You know,” David pauses, “the truth is, this wasn’t about your mom. This was when your dad was little, and he- he was trying to invent a guy that didn’t exist to protect himself. It’s crazy.” David shakes his head a little. “But, he loved your mom. He loved her very, very much.”

“I can’t wait to fall in love.” Lucy sighs.

David laughs, a harsh mirthless thing. “No need to rush into that, monkey.”

****

The next morning the doorbell rings promptly at ten, Jonny’s near elbow deep in pancake batter, trying to funnel it from the mixing bowl into the squeeze bottle his aunts always use, “Go get the door, Vivie, please.”

“I still can’t believe you invited him over.” David grumps from where he’s sulking at the table.

The front door opens with a slam. “You came for breakfast!” Vivie exclaims. “We’re having pancakes!”

“No, actually, I just came here to talk to your dad.”

“Great, he’s having pancakes too!” Vivie drags Patrick into the kitchen by the hand. “He’s here for breakfast!” she announces.

Patrick scratches the back of his neck, pulling on the curls at his nape. “I do actually have a couple questions...”

“Of course,” Jonny says, “but breakfast first? We’ve got pancakes. Or we will soon.” He scrapes another burnt misshapen mess into the trash can.

Patrick laughs. “You’re not very good at this.” He hip checks Jonny gently away from the stove, stealing the spatula from his hand. “Let me?”

“Have at it.” Jonny says.

Patrick rolls up his shirt sleeves, exposing strong, capable forearms. “Alright Vivie, have you ever seen star pancakes?”

“Can you do that?” her voice is awed.

“Hasn’t yet,” Jonny grumbles under his breath. He could probably make star shaped pancakes. If he wanted to.

Patrick waggles his eyebrows in Jonny’s direction, “Alright, Miss Vivie, prepare to be amazed.” He takes the squeeze bottle Jonny put the pancake batter in and begins drawing on the skillet.

“Why stars?” Vivie asks. She’s scooted closer to Patrick at the stove and is watching him intently.

“It’s my favorite shape,” he says.

“Lucy!” Vivie calls, “his favorite shape is a star.”

Patrick looks over at Lucy, “you like stars too?”

Lucy sidles up next to Vivie, watching the pancake making with rapt attention, “Uh huh.”

Jonny looks at his brother and shrugs, but David’s not paying attention.

“Alright,” Patrick says, “watch this.” He flips the first pancake, sending it high into the air and catching it back on the skillet.

Vivie and Lucy both gasp in delight, speaking over each other. Jonny only catches bits -- “spell,” “star,” “pancakes,”, but he just shrugs it off intent on cleaning up his earlier mess.

Patrick makes quick work of the rest of the pancake batter, turning out a stack of perfectly fluffy star shaped pancakes that he sets in front of Jonny with a flourish. “Show off,” Jonny says, but he can’t pretend that is voice is anything but fond.

***

Patrick’s good company over breakfast, more than making up for David’s one word answers and sullen silence. And he good-naturedly indulges Vivie and Lucy peppering him with non-stop questions.

“What’s your favorite color?” Vivie asks over Lucy’s muttered, “what does that matter?”

“Black,” Patrick says, dumping a generous amount of syrup over his stack of pancakes.

“What’s your favorite song?” Lucy asks.

Patrick puts his fork down, chewing thoughtfully before whistling a few bars of something.

Jonny glances over at him, “Is that Clumsy?”

“You’re good!” He grins, ducking his head sheepishly. “I know it’s kind of- They were my favorite band when I was younger.”

“Me too,” Jonny says.

The moment’s broken by David dropping his utensils to the table with a loud clatter and Vivie interjecting, “Do you like hockey, Mr. Patrick?”

“I don’t like it,” Patrick says, “I love it!”

Lucy smiles, sharing a meaningful glance with Vivie, “Are you good? What position do you play? Do you score goals?

Vivie’s talking over her, “Do you still play? Can you skate backwards? Can you do a spin-o-rama?”

Patrick throws his head back, exposing the long column of his throat with a laugh, “I’m not usually on this side of the interrogation. Are you girls planning on going into law enforcement?”

“No.” Vivie says archly. “I’m going to be a veterinarian.”

“Well?” Lucy asks, watching Patrick intently, undeterred from her line of questioning. “Are you any good at hockey?”

“Yeah,” Patrick smiles, a little wistful, “I am. Almost went pro actually, until I fu- until I messed up my wrist.” He smiles at Vivie. “And the spin-o-rama was my signature move.”

“Really?” Jonny asks, impressed despite himself. “There’s a men’s league in town, I haven’t signed-up yet this year, but if you’re gonna stick around, maybe you should join too.”

“You play?” Patrick asks, and the two of them are so focused on hockey talk that they entirely miss the significant glances Lucy and Vivie share, and David’s continually foiled attempts to sprinkle a little banishing potion into Patrick’s syrup.

***

After everyone is pleasantly full -- Jonny made a delicious batter even if he couldn’t turn out a single pancake without burning it -- Jonny sends the girls up to their rooms and stares at David until he finally slinks from the room with a final glare.

“So,” Jonny says, “what do you want to know?”

Patrick puts down a small vial onto the kitchen table. Jonny recognizes his own writing on the label; Patrick must have nicked it from his shop.

“Belladonna,” Jonny says mildly. “it’s a sedative. Some people put it in their tea to relax, calm their nerves.”

“Some people also use it as a poison,” Patrick says.

“Which people?”

“Exactly,” Patrick laughs, a forced thing. “Witch people.”

“Ha ha,” Jonny says surprisingly calm at the direction this conversation is going.

“Witches.” Patrick says, gaze penetrating, though not uncomfortable.

“Witches. I guess you found me out.”

Patrick shakes his head, “I guess I did.”

“You should come around here on Halloween, you’d really see something then: we jump off the roof and fly. Kill our lovers too. Or is that out of your jurisdiction?”

“Do you have any idea how strange this all sounds to me? I’ve got people telling me you’re up here- that you’re into devil worship-”

“No, there’s no devil in the craft.” Jonny says.

“I see. And what kind of craft do you do?”

“Me? I manufacture bath oils and soaps and hand lotions and shampoo. And the aunts like to meddle in people's love lives. Magic isn’t just spells and potions. Your badge.” Jonny holds out his hand expectantly.

Patrick hands it over, letting his hand linger against Jonny’s open palm.

“It’s just a star.” Jonny says, holding the wallet open. “Just another symbol, your talisman. It can’t stop criminals in their tracks can it? It has power because you believe it does.”

“Are you hiding Aubrey Marcus?”

“Not in this house.” Jonny says.

“Did you or your brother kill Aubrey Marcus?”

“Oh yeah, a couple of times.”

Patrick doesn’t look surprised, like maybe he already knew or like maybe he thinks Jonny’s joking. Before he says anything, they’re interrupted by a large speckled toad jumping, from seemingly nowhere, right onto the middle of the table. It makes an awful hacking noise and they both watch in horrified fascination as it spits out a thick silver ring.

Neither of them say anything. Jonny’s brain is going a million miles a minute, but he can’t seem to grasp what he should be doing here.

“Fergus!” David scoops up the toad and the ring. He’s arrived so quickly that Jonny suspects he’s been skulking in the pantry. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” He turns to Patrick, “Some party trick, huh?”

“That’s your ring?” Patrick asks, the complete and utter disbelief fully apparent in his voice.

“Uh huh,” David says, keeping the toad and the ring cradled close to his chest.

“What do you think you two are playing at here?” Patrick said, voice going hard.

Jonny clears his throat, “What do you mean?”

Patrick stands up, sending his chair clattering back. “You better get yourself a damn good lawyer,” he points at Jonny. “And don’t even think about leaving town.”

He’s slammed the door behind him and is halfway down their walk before Jonny recovers the power of speech.

“Holy fuck, David,” Jonny all but yells. “Holy shit. What the fuck?”

“Just stick to your story,” David says, dropping the toad into the sink with a shudder, turning the water onto his hands and scrubbing at them roughly. He turns back towards Jonny and takes down the entire stack of plates from breakfast waiting to be washed, still sticky with maple syrup, with a resounding crash.

“Oh shit,” David drops to his knees, and starts trying to corral some of the mess ineffectively with his hands, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. God. I’m feeling like shit. I’m not sleeping. I-”

“’I,’ Me,’ ‘My’ God, Davey, do you listen to yourself? All you can think about is you. You. You. You. It’s all about you.”

“I don’t want to fight.” David says standing up, poised to leave.

“Don’t you walk away from me!” Jonathan screams at him. “I’m sick and tired of cleaning up your messes.”

“You’re right. You’re always right! I’m just a mess. Just one big mess. At least I lived my life. And you hate me for that because it scares the hell out of you. You spend all your energy just trying to fit in, but you’re never gonna fit in. You’re different, and so are your girls-”

“You leave them out of this.” Jonny’s voice is ice cold.

“God,” David pushes his hair from his brow, “All my life I wished I had even half your talent. You’re wasting yourself-”

“Out.” Jonny says. “I want you out of here.”

“Okay. Fine, I’m gone.”

“Good.” Jonny says, pulling his jacket down from the hook by the door.

“Wait. What? What are you doing? Where are you going?”

Jonny shrugs into the jacket, “To do the right thing.”

David moves to try to bar the door, “No! No, no, no you are not going to tell him.”

“You know what’s funny? From the moment that Patrick walked into this house that’s all I seem to want to do.”

“What are you gonna do? Get down on your knees and beg for mercy?” David scoffs.

Jonny muscles past him and wrenches the door open, “You want me to be true to myself? Then watch this.”

****

Jonny takes off at a slow jog, Patrick didn’t get much of a head start on him, but he’s walking fast and Jonny doesn’t catch up with him until the edge of Main Street. “It was Aubrey’s ring,” he says, “I know you knew that, but I needed to tell you.

“I was serious back there.” Patrick says, wary. “You need to get yourself a lawyer before you talk to me.”

“I don’t want a lawyer,” Jonny says.

Patrick stares at him a long minute, before guiding Jonny down the street towards the Inn he’s been staying at. “Alright.”

Jonny nods a hello at Mrs. Panik when they enter the Candlestick Inn, resolutely ignoring her knowing look as he follows Patrick up to his room.

The key sticks in the lock, and Patrick shoves his shoulder against the door to get it to fall open. He waves Jonny in. “Excuse the mess, I wasn’t expecting company.” He hurries past Jonny to shut his suitcase and move his shoes off the chair in the corner. “Have yourself a seat.”

Jonny moves towards the chair, but his eyes catch on his letter, open on the dresser. He picks it up, fingering it’s worn edges. The paper is so creased from being folded and unfolded that it’s started to rip along the seams. “How many times did you read my letter?”

“A few.” Patrick barely glances up. “Have to study all the evidence.” He pulls out his recorder, “This is the testimony of Jonathan Toews. October 2, 2016.” He clears his throat. “Where is Aubrey Marcus?”

Jonny drops into the open chair, still holding the letter. “I believe he’s in the spirit world.”

“You think he’s dead?” Patrick says, pitching his voice louder for the recorder.

“No, I think he’s haunting us.” Jonny looks down at the letter and back up again. “What evidence did you get from my letter?”

“Did you or your brother kill Aubrey Marcus?”

“Davey didn’t kill anyone.”

“David didn’t, but you did.” Patrick says slowly, “Did you? Jonny did you?”

Jonny stands up, going to stare out the window. “What if I told you I did, what would you do? Would you send me to jail for the rest of my life? All because the world was short a man like Aubrey Marcus.”

Patrick goes to stand by Jonny. Jonny can feel his gaze hot on his face, but he doesn’t turn away from the window. “It’s not for me to decide.” Patrick says, “he has to be held accountable for his crimes.”

Jonny looks at him, registering truly for the first time just how closely they’re standing. “Well- He has been punished.”

“Yeah?” Patrick asks, voice low.

Jonny just looks at him, letting Patrick take in the truth that’s written all over his face.

“Shit,” Patrick scrubs his hand over his face, turning to grab the recorder and flipping it off, tossing it to the table with a clatter. “You really should get a lawyer’s advice before this goes any further.” He puts his hands on Jonny’s arms and pulls him close, “I know you’re in some sort of trouble. If you’ll trust me, tell me what you know, I promise you I’ll do everything I can to keep you from harm’s way.” Patrick slides his hands up Jonny’s arms to frame Jonny’s face, “Trust me.”

“Patrick,” Jonny pulls him in for a kiss.

He’s pressed hard against the wall, Patrick’s body a searing heat all along his front. Patrick’s hands are firm on Jonny’s jaw as he changes the angle of the kiss, and Jonny groans into it. He slides his hands to the small of Patrick’s back, pulling him that much closer. The kiss is a harsh, heady thing: too much spit and teeth as they battle for dominance.

Jonny pushes off from the wall, lifting Patrick up -- his legs wrapping tightly around Jonny’s waist -- before dropping him on the nearby bed, pinning him there with his body. Jonny trails kisses over to Patrick’s neck, sucking on the delicate skin below his ear, and Patrick arches into it, scratching his fingers through Jonny’s hair and moaning lowly.

Their hips are rocking against each other, not quite aligned so each press is just a hint of that pure, perfect pressure Jonny craves. He shifts into the spread of Patrick’s legs, settling himself against Patrick more fully. Jonny groans into Patrick’s mouth, nipping at his full lower lip and sucking it into his mouth.

He drops his head to Patrick’s forehead, just breathing against Patrick’s parted lips, hips hitching together almost involuntarily. “I shouldn’t, I can’t,” Jonny says.

“I can’t either,” Patrick says, hand braced on Jonny’s shoulders, pulling Jonny back into him. Jonny goes willingly, swallowing up the sweet noises Patrick’s making as their hips circle against each other.

“Should stop,” Jonny breathes, doing nothing of the sort as he chases that pure fission of pleasure sparking in his belly with each circle of his hips, with each delicious press against Patrick. It feels too good for Jonny to even think about stopping, to even think about separating.

“Yeah,” Patrick agrees, teeth biting a sharp white line into his lower lip. Jonny thumbs it free, and Patrick catches the tip of Jonny’s thumb in his mouth, sucking in delicate counterpoint to the harsh shove of his hips. And it’s almost like that light suction, each swirl of Patrick’s tongue around the pad of Jonny’s finger, has a direct line to his cock, because it only takes a few more thrusts before he’s arching his back and coming, clutching Patrick tightly against him.

Jonny’s breathing heavy as he comes down, when he feels the aborted, hitching thrusts Patrick is making. “Hang on, hang on,” he says, working a hand between them and making quick work of Patrick’s zipper, before wrapping his hand firmly around Patrick’s leaking cock. It only takes a few long pulls, pressure tight on the head, before Patrick is sinking his teeth into his lower lip again and coming with a dirty, rough groan.

Jonny rolls off, wiping his come covered hand against the sheets, and folding his body towards Patrick. He trails his clean hand across Patrick’s lips, his cheekbones, his brow. “Your eyes are really blue,” he says inanely making Patrick giggle.

“I was born with them.” Patrick ducks his head for a kiss.

“Bright blue eyes,” Jonny says again, voice far away. “Bright blue ey-” he pushes back from Patrick, “Clumsy’s my favorite- Spin-o-ra-” Patrick’s face is scrunched in confusion. “I’ve gotta go.” Jonny’s off the bed and out of the room before Patrick even does up his jeans; Jonny pays no heed to Patrick’s plea to wait.

****

Jonny’s halfway home, walking slower this time, mentally kicking himself for his lack of self-control, when he hears a soft, “Dad!” in a voice that sounds like Vivie. He looks around and doesn’t see anything, but picks up his pace slightly.

“Dad!” He hears again, this time louder and panicked.

“Daddy!” Lucy’s voice joins in, and Jonny takes off at a dead run. Dread settles like a stone in the pit of his stomach.

****

He tears into the house, throwing the door open with a bang and thundering up the stairs, paying no mind to creaky steps or loose carpet. Lucy and Vivie crash into Jonny’s legs on the third landing, coming down from David’s bedroom in the top tower.

They’re hysterical, scrambling at Jonny, trying to get into his arms, talking over each other, fear in their eyes. Vivie’s crying, heavy hiccups, back hitching under Jonny’s palm. “Shhhh, shhhh.” He soothes, gathering them into his arms, smoothing Lucy’s hair back and wiping a tear track from Vivie’s face. “You’re fine, you’re fine. I’m here now. I love you, and I’m here.”

Vivie falls silent, and Lucy supplies, “It’s Uncle Davey, Daddy.” Jonny’s almost surprised at how unsurprised he is to hear that.

He nods decisively, and sends the girls downstairs with admonishments to stay in the kitchen. He presses a kiss to each of their foreheads, “I love you. It’s going to be fine.”

Jonny squares his shoulders and tries to prepare himself for what he might find, continuing up the winding staircase to David’s room.

***

All the mental preparation in the world couldn’t have prepared Jonny for what he finds. David is on his bed like something straight out of the Exorcist: back arching unnaturally and hands scratching lines in the wooden headboard. His neck is thrown back, inhuman noises coming from him; his eyes are open wide, but they’re staring and unfocused.

Jonny has a passing wish that Patrick were here. He edges into the room, keeping near the wall as he assesses the situation. Patrick thunders into the room seconds later, gun drawn. He looks at David’s writhing body and back to Jonny, pulling him roughly to his side.

David’s body falls back to the bed, limbs bent at odd angles, then rising from the bed is the corporeal form of Aubrey Marcus; skin grey and pasty. He tilts his head, as if to crack nonexistent bones, and smiles at Patrick and Jonny in a predatory fashion. “Officer Kane, just looking at you makes me homesick.”

Patrick doesn’t say anything, but loosens his grip on Jonny enough that he’s able to slip away, skirting the edges of the room until he reaches David, holding on to his hand like a lifeline.

Aubrey’s ghost and Patrick are circling each other now, it’s like watching two fighters in the ring, and every time Aubrey makes a tsking noise -- voice rough from disuse -- a shiver travels up Jonny’s spine.

“What’s wrong?” Aubrey asks, voice cruel and teasing, “cat got your tongue?” He lunges at Patrick punching a hand towards Patrick’s chest, towards his heart.

Jonny makes a noise in the back of his throat. He wants to move, but his body feels leaden, frozen in place.

Patrick makes a pained noise, standing still, eyes never leaving Aubrey’s smug face. His lips quirk ever so slightly, when Aubrey starts to howl in pain, smirk sliding off his face and eyes open wide in disbelief. He pulls his hand back from Patrick’s chest, the force of withdrawal throwing Patrick backwards, where he lands at Jonny’s side.

Jonny catches a glimpse of Aubrey’s hand, wrist now cradled in his other hand, the indelible image of a star burned into the palm. “Your badge,” he whispers, clasping one of Patrick’s hands in his.

Aubrey looks over at them, overcome with rage, and he lunges at Patrick again. Patrick scrambles for his badge, flipping it open and holding it out in front of him. When Aubrey sees his reflection in the shiny silver he howls, inhuman and impotent, before disintegrating into a cloud of grey dust.

Jonny and Patrick are both breathing heavily, like they just ran a marathon. Jonny’s fingers ache from how tightly he’s been clutching Patrick’s and David’s hands. He releases his grip, flexing his fingers and trying to calm his breathing. David looks peaceful now, body calm and breath even; he opens his eyes -- clear and lucid Jonny is happy to note -- and says, “Thanks.”

Patrick looks between the two of them, disbelief and anger warring on his face as the last of the adrenalin clearly leaves his body. “Somebody better explain all this to me.”

“I will,” Jonny says, “I will, just-” he trails off, but it doesn’t seem to matter, because Patrick nods, prepared to wait.

***

Jonny gets David some water and leaves him with a firm admonishment to not even think about getting out of bed. He doesn’t have a tremendous amount of experience with spirit possessions, but he feels that’s a reasonable request.

He and Patrick go down to the kitchen to check on Vivie and Lucy. They’re sitting together on a bench near the bay window, Lucy’s arm around Vivie’s shoulder, faces sticky with chocolate from the cookies they’re eating straight from the tin. Jonny isn’t even mad -- he’s proud actually -- chocolate is the best remedy in these sorts of situations (JK Rowling does get some things right); he’s glad Lucy realized it.

Jonny and Patrick get the girls cleaned up and fed dinner before bringing them upstairs to see that David is just fine. The girls are tentative at first, Lucy holding tightly to his hand and Vivie to Patrick’s, but eventually they let go to give David hugs. He ruffles their hair and promises to make them waffles in the morning, sending them back to Jonny and Patrick with orders to have “sweet dreams.”

“Let’s have stories,” Patrick suggests as they’re descending the stairs towards the girls’ room.

“We’re too old for stories,” Lucy scoffs.

Patrick gasps, with faux outrage. “No one’s too old for stories.”

“It’s too early for bedtime!” Vivie protests.

“Humor me,” Patrick says, “It has been a day.” Jonny comes in with the assist, waving his hand and whispering a beloved sleeping enchantment behind the girls’ backs until they’re yawning in unison.

They get the girls tucked into bed, and Patrick reaches for a copy of Harry Potter.

Jonny stops him with a laugh, “Maybe nothing magical tonight.” He hands him instead a copy of Five Little Peppers.

Lucy makes a face, eyebrows scrunching in confusion, “I don’t know that one.”

“It was grandmère’s favorite,” Jonny says. “It’s nice.”

Patrick reads a few chapters, deep voice comforting as he tells of the Peppers’ attempts to get Polly a new stove and about Phronsie running off to follow an organ monkey. It’s not long before Vivie’s asleep and Lucy’s eyes are drooping.

Jonny drops a final kiss to each girl’s forehead.

***

Patrick and Jonny drop into the swing on the large wraparound porch. The night air’s cool, a hint of winter on its way, but not so cold yet that you don’t want to be outside.

“And you said my badge couldn’t stop criminals in their tracks,” Patrick jokes weakly.

Jonny let’s out a long breath, face tipped up towards the moon.

“What was that, Jonny?” Patrick asks. “That was him wasn’t it? Is he gone? Or what?”

“Yes, you killed his spirit, but I’m the one who took his life. And I’ll tell you everything you need to know. I’ll tell you how I did it. I’ll tell you where I buried him. I’ll tell you what I did it with his body. I’ll tell you how I-”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa hold on, Jonny, just hold on.” Patrick says. He takes a deep breath, “I took an oath to uphold the law. I thought I came here to bring in the bad guy, because that’s usually what I do.”

Jonny doesn’t say anything, just watches Patrick, he can almost see Patrick trying to make sense of it all in the lines of his face.

“You asked me how many times I read your letter.” Patrick shakes his head ruefully. “I must have read it about a thousand times. I know now it was your letter, more than anything else, that brought me here: it was you. And I’m kinda all mixed up about that.”

Jonny turns towards Patrick fully, drawing a leg up underneath himself, his knee knocking into Patrick’s hip. “The reason that you’re here, and you don’t know why is because I sent for you.” Patrick doesn’t say anything, clearly waiting for Jonny to continue. “When I was a kid, after my parents died, I worked a spell so I would never fall in love. I asked for qualities in a man that I knew couldn’t possibly exist.” Jonny shakes his head to clear it. “But you do.”

“You’re saying what I’m feeling is just one of your spells?”

“Yeah. It’s not real. And if you stay I’ll never know if it’s because of the spell, and you wouldn’t know if it’s because I didn’t want to go to jail.”

Patrick laughs, a mirthless thing. “Well, all relationships have problems.”

Jonny laughs too, and it feels like he’s choking on it. “I’m right aren’t I? You don’t know, do you?”

Patrick stands up, walking to stand at the edge of the porch, back to Jonny and hands in his pockets as he looks out into the blackness of the night.

Jonny doesn’t say anything, just waits.

Patrick turns back to Jonny. “Well, why don’t you do what you do, and I’ll do what I do, and we’ll see where we end up. Okay?”

“‘Kay.” Jonny says, feeling the faintest glimmer of hope take up residence in his heart.

“Curses only have power when you believe in them, and I don’t.” Patrick starts heading down the path to his car, before turning a last time. “You know what, Jonny? I wished for you too.”

Jonny doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t go inside until the tail lights from Patrick’s car have faded completely away.

****

“Mail call!” Maude yells out, slamming the front door open with a bang.

Lucy and Vivie jump up from where they’d been working on their homework at the kitchen table to run into the foyer.

“You’re back,” Lucy says, wrapping Maude in a quick hug, followed by Rebekah. Vivie lingers for a moment before being drawn into hugs of her own.

“Dear girls,” Rebekah says, kissing Vivie and then Lucy and then Vivie again. “I see you’re all alright.”

At that Lucy and Vivie start talking over each other, so rapidly and loudly that Jonny only catches snatches “Patrick” and “pancakes” and “love spell” and “possessed.” And despite the aunts likely only taking in this fragmented retelling of the past few weeks, they don’t look surprised. At all.

“Alright, Alright,” Maude says finally, “one at a time, and for mercy’s sake, let us get out of our travelling clothes first.”

Reluctantly, Vivie and Lucy let them head upstairs, but not before Maude sends a crisp white envelope flying through the air straight into Jonny’s chest. “Something for you. From Buffalo,” she says, her voice entirely too knowing for Jonny’s comfort.

He tucks the envelope in his back pocket and ushers the girls back to the kitchen. Once they’re settled at the table, and he’s given the stew on the stove a quick stir, he opens the envelope with a quick flick of his wrist.

Dear Mr. Toews,

After further investigation, this office concludes that Aubrey Marcus’ cause of death was accidental. Jewelry found in the ashes of the structure provided positive identification.

Sincerely,
Patrick Kane, Special Investigator

“Jonny?” David asks coming in from the greenhouse, and Jonny hands over the letter wordlessly.

David’s eyes scan it quickly, eyebrows raising, before handing the paper back to Jonny.

Jonny traces a fingertip over the messy scrawl of Patrick’s name and doesn’t look up. “What should I do?”

“What shouldn’t you do for the right guy?” Rebekah replies softly, entering the kitchen with Maude on her heels.

Jonny doesn’t look up at them, doesn’t ask how they already know the contents of the letter, how they know the contents of his heart.

“Daddy?” Vivie says after a few wordless moments.

He looks up at them all: his aunts’ knowing smiles, David’s teasing grin, the questioning looks on Vivie’s and Lucy’s faces. “I gotta-”

“Go.” Maude says.

***

Jonny’s halfway down the highway to Buffalo, thankfully just a few hours away from Pumpkin Hollow, when he realizes how crazy this is. Patrick sent him what basically amounts to a form letter. It wasn’t some undying declaration of love; it wasn't a personal note. It wasn’t even the casual “see you soon” of former high school friends with zero intention to ever actually meet up for coffee.

And yet.

And yet, Jonny’s snapping his fingers and murmuring spells that he normally reserves for emergencies -- like rescuing his dumb brother from the clutches of a homicidal narcissist -- to speed up the drive to Patrick’s office.

He’s never been there before, just has the address hastily ripped from the letter Patrick sent, but he seems to know the way anyway. It’s late, well after 9 pm, and there’s no real reason to think Patrick will even be there -- not when he should be home or out with friends or doing whatever it is he does when he’s off the clock -- but Jonny just knows he will be.

When Jonny pulls up in front of the office, he’s not surprised at all to see Patrick sitting on the front stoop outside the building. Jonny idles the car and watches Patrick unfold himself and make his way over to Jonny’s car, not even pausing before sliding into the front seat and pulling Jonny in for a kiss.

“Took you long enough.” Patrick says pulling back.

“I just got your letter today,” Jonny counters, using a little intuitive magic to navigate his way to Patrick’s apartment.

“I’ve been waiting for you for forever, I just didn’t know it.”

***

Can love travel back in time and heal a broken heart? Was it our joined hands that finally lifted the Toews’ curse? I’d like to think so. There are some things I know for certain: always throw spilled salt over your left shoulder, keep rosemary by your garden gate, plant lavender for luck, and fall in love whenever you can.

Jonny sets his pen down, blowing gently on the ink to dry it.

“Jonny!” Patrick calls from the living room, Lucy’s and Vivie giggling madly, if you don’t hurry up the girls are gonna make us watch Sabrina the Teenage Witch. Again.”

Jonny groans good-naturedly, “I still can’t believe Maude found that on DVD. Alright, I’m coming, hold on!” He tucks the satin ribbon in the new spell book Rebekah had gifted him. (“Now that you’re going to start really practicing again, it’s time to write down what you’re working on. You need to save it for the girls.”)

“Jonny!” Patrick calls through laughter, “Hurry up, your girls are being mean to me.”

“How come they’re my girls when you’re under attack.” He snags the bowl of popcorn off the counter. Walking into the living room, he pauses in the doorway, just for a moment, but long enough to take in Patrick on the couch, Lucy and Vivie tucked into each side, an old quilt of Rebekah’s covering their legs. Patrick looks up at him and smiles.

Life is perfect.