Page 12 of The Bairwick Witches
Cal’s visit was the only break in the monotony of the day: customers, stocking, daydreaming about the cute boy, customers, cleaning, customers, daydreaming about the cute boy, customers. There were thirty minutes left ’till closing when daydreams merged into reality, and the young man walked into the store.
“Hello,” Schuyler said, instantly embarrassed by speaking an octave higher than normal, and quickly trying to cover it, “how are you?”
“Yeah, Hi.” The words sounded like they should be polite, but the delivery was more indifferent than anything.
“You looking for something specific?” Schuyler, ready to solve the case of what had been perplexing the young man, stepped out from behind the counter.
The young man forced a smile, clearly annoyed at being asked questions. “I was told this town was full of witchy shops, and yet none of these places have what I’m looking for. And it doesn’t make sense. But…thank you, I’ll look around and let you know if I need anything.” The young flippant man, who in two sentences ruined Schuyler’s fantasy about him, turned around and perused the shelves himself.
Not surprised, as Schuyler had called it, though still a tad jarring. He tried to think of excuses for the young man while also trying to not eye fuck the delicious thing as he wandered around the entire store. Maybe the young man was tired, not his best self; frustrated people often lashed out. Or maybe, he was an asshole.
Not yet ready to write him off, Schuyler found there was something about the young man that captivated him. If anything, he’d enjoy these few moments getting to see the beautiful man as up close as possible.
“Oh my god,” he whined loudly to himself, as he speedily looked at every item and then at his phone, then at the items again. “I’m so over this. This spell. This place. Ugh!” He gave up and headed to the door.
“Are you certain I can’t help you find something?” Schuyler asked, unsure why he was extending such graciousness when it had been met with snark and sass earlier.
The young man sighed loudly, defeated, and said, “Fine,” in a huff before walking over to the counter. He set his phone down, sliding it over to Schuyler. “I need these to do this spell I want to try, and I can’t find them anywhere around here.”
Schuyler read the items written down in the note app, and while something about the list seemed familiar, like a passage from a book he’d once read but failed to recall completely, hecould not immediately place the items. “I see how frustrating this is. I don’t really recognize any of these names.”
The young man groaned, whining about how over the entire ordeal he was, and how Bairwick was nonsense. His life had not worked out for him, apparently.
“Oh by the Goddesses, stop with the whiney shit dude, hella annoying. I’m literally still trying to help you.” Schuyler felt none of the need or motivation to impress him, or be nice for that matter, “Icanprobably figure this out if you give me a minute.”
The young man ceased speaking and went quiet. Not expecting to be spoken to in such a harsh manner, he appeared unsure how to proceed—opening his mouth to speak but then stopping.
“Sorry,” he finally said, “been a long couple of days and there’s not even a hotel in this town, have to keep coming over on the fucking ferry.”
“Understood,” Schuyler said curtly. “Well, again, these aren’t anything I’ve heard of, but they feel familiar and I’m trying to place them. I need to check if you copied these into this note correctly.”
The audacity of Schuyler to ask. “Um… of course I did, I do know how to write something down.”
Schuyler held his frustration inside, but part of him wanted to fly across the small floating counter and smack the shit out of the young man, but he restrained. “I mean, from the original spell? I’m just checking.”
The young man whined again, every time further ruining his attractiveness. “Like, yes. From the journal the spell was written in, okay.”
“Oh, so this is a homebrewed spell. Then these could be alternate names, or they’re written in code. Some witches wouldleave spells in codes. This one wanted to make you work for it. I’d go to the library, and try to research these names, find a possible country of origin, and see where that leads. Witchcraft is older than the written word; everything we use in our conjurations has had a hundred different names.”
“Library? There’s no library here. I’ve been up and down this over-hyped strip mall multiple times.” He turned up his nose at Main Street through the window.
“This is my home you’re talking about. I’m sorry, hold on,” he could sense the young man was a Natural Witch, his aura having the tell-tale glow, but a nagging thought appeared to him out of the ether. “Do you know where you are?”
“Um, fuck kind of question is that? I’m in the tourist trap that is Bairwick, aren’t I? Like the place where kitsch comes to die.”
Wow, I really wanted to like this guy.
“My uncle’s journal said he lived here when he was a kid, but maybe he was delusional, or stupid, ’cause this place is one street and who the fuck even lives here and like don’t get me started on the–” There was a rumble in his stomach, and the young man froze. His beautiful green eyes went wide, his lips pursed as he grabbed his stomach. He shook his head, even stepping back in an attempt to prevent the rather robust release of gas.
The rush of wind escaped the young man’s ass and gently parted Schuyler’s beard as it passed him. The young man, mortified, stood in silence.
Schuyler resisted saying anything. They stared at each other, not moving, only their eyes blinking. Another, smaller toot, determined not to be left behind, followed; it broke Schuyler into hysterics.
“Oh my god.” The young man, still frozen in place, looked as if he was about to bolt for the exit. “I thought all that had passed.”
“Oh, I’d say it passed alright,” Schuyler joked, attempting to silence his giggles.
“I’m, mortified. It’s been all afternoon, stupid cheese fries.”
