4. ISAAC

Chapter four

ISAAC

W ell, it wasn't a dream. I'd summoned a demon—if the scantily dressed, legs-for-days being with horns and fangs currently in my kitchen, swaying his hips to whatever song played on the TV as he made breakfast was anything to go by. Though, it was only seven a.m., so hallucinations were still a strong possibility.

Except, I couldn't even luxuriate in that illusion as my awareness was, surprisingly, dialled up to a solid eighty-five. Waking up to a stranger in my flat, poking at my microwave as if it was diseased, could be thanked for that.

It hadn't escaped me just how delayed that reaction was, but in fairness, I'd expected sleeping on it to do the trick and that, like all nightmares, it could eventually be forgotten. No such luck, obviously , so only now was the realisation slamming into me that every sceptical thought I'd ever had was a big fat lie.

I should've been shitting my pants, right? I mean, demons existed, and if we were being frank, how his eyes had flared was shit-in-boxers-worthy on its own. But because I had absolutely no survival instincts left to speak of, and my priorities were a little tunnel-visioned, all my overloaded brain could focus on was how I always managed to get myself into these messes.

At that point, it had to count as a special skill. Like, seriously. This was beyond a joke, even for me and my track record. Ironic too, given my lack of belief. Well, I had no fucking choice but to believe now, did I? The evidence was right fucking there , shaking his arse and bobbing his horned head to a tune.

Christ, those horns really were protruding from his scalp and twisting toward the ceiling. There was no mistaking it. Any of it. He wasn't just some hot stranger who'd broken into my house in the middle of the night, was he?

Shitting shitballs .

"I would ask where you got all this stuff from, but right now, I don't really have the capacity to give a toss." By stuff, I meant the food strewn across every available countertop, food that I definitely did not have before.

I had the essentials—I wasn't completely destitute—but a full fridge was a distant memory for me.

The demon peered over his shoulder, that roguish smirk of his firmly in place. "Magic," he said, voice barely above a rasp, smooth as silk.

I rolled my eyes and sighed. "Of course. Silly me. "

He reached up to grab something from the cupboard and I tried not to stare at the way his robe clung to every indecent curve of his body. I really did.

"Your cabinets were bare." He stated the obvious. "It was utterly depressing, my dear."

"Mhm, yeah. That'll be because I'm skint."

He gasped, a hand flying to his chest as if clutching pearls. "How tragic." A beat of silence for the fallen. "Well, it's a good thing I'm here now, isn't it?"

"Wonderful," I said with all the dryness I could muster. "Always wanted my own fairy godmother, but I thought you weren't going to help me until I paid for your services. That came out wrong, but the observation still stands."

He shrugged. "Does it really count if I'm also helping myself? It wouldn't do for me to starve, now would it?"

That almost startled a maniacal laugh out of me.

This was nuts. How could I still be so calm? This handsome being was quite capable of killing me with his pinkie finger—had a pretty reasonable motive for it, too—but there I was, discussing the state of my food stores instead of… I dunno, doing whatever normal people did in these types of situations. An exorcism? That seemed harsh, and I could not for the life of me find the energy to worry enough about it to resort to such drastic measures. Had I truly reached the point of skipping straight to the final stage of resigned acceptance? Perhaps my stress tank was already so full that no matter what unhinged bullshit the universe threw at me, it just floated like a feather on the top—aimless, but there .

Adding pressure to a sinking ship wasn't going to make it any worse. It was already sinking. It would just sink a wee bit quicker.

"Fair enough," I said absently, deciding to treat this as if it were any other regular ole inconvenience.

What else could I do?

I wrestled my trainers onto my feet without unlacing them before gathering my coat. "Well, I'm going to go see a guy about sending you home."

"Aw, must you?" He whirled around, frying pan in hand, and pouted. "You could have breakfast first? We could get to know each other better." He was trying to provoke me, to tempt me for Christ knows what reason. It was obvious, but I held firm.

The eggs, despite their slightly burnt tinge, smelled better than the pot noodles I'd been eating for the past week. My stomach even growled in protest when I shook my head.

I couldn't get distracted.

"Would love to," I half lied. "But I'm going out." I shrugged on my coat before snatching my car keys and wallet from the fruit bowl. It wasn't until I grabbed the door handle, ready to leave, that I spoke again. "For the sake of my health, if nothing else, please stay out of trouble."

A smug grin to rival all others split his face, and I regretted even suggesting it .

"Can't make any promises, pet."

I had left a demon in my flat. Unsupervised. Not my brightest decision, I knew, but needs must. I couldn't exactly have brought him. While his eyes and clothes could probably fly under the radar, the horns and fangs were a different kettle of fish. No doubt they could be magically hidden away—what with all those powers he'd used to conjure up the expensive butter—but even so, this was a small village, a tight-knit community where everyone knew everyone, and those people talked . The last thing I needed was to be hounded about ‘dating' accusations, or for that particular vein of tattling to reach my mother's ears.

That would surely drive me over the edge.

She was overbearing at the best of times, and yeah, alright, she just didn't want me to end up alone, which I sort of understood—it was a parent's worst fear, right? But ‘settling down with a nice fella and finding a more stable job' wasn't on the cards for me at present, no matter how much she nagged. I'd invested too much in this business to throw up my white flag already, and my life was too shambolic to be thinking of bringing someone else into the mix .

I was perfectly capable of multitasking, but a bloke could only juggle so much.

Besides, even if I wanted to start dating, which I didn't, this situation wasn't even a contender, and I wanted to keep it that way. This was about me dealing with the consequences of summoning a demon, and the fewer people who knew about that, or his existence, the better.

Witchcraft or satanic ritual probably wouldn't be their first guess—assuming his demon parts could be concealed—but it wasn't worth the hassle trying to defend myself. Once the gossips had decided the ‘facts,' there was no going back. I could swear blind that he was my eccentric cousin, but the knowing looks, or the ‘your secret's safe with me's from the old dears who frequented the shop would still happen. Daily.

Spoiler alert, but a secret—even a fake one—wasn't ever safe in a place like this.

Not for long.

It wasn't that I'd be ashamed of people thinking I went out with someone like him. The opposite, actually. He was stunning; a bit of a tosser, but looks-wise, he was a catch, and I'd have been lucky to have people think he was mine. But that was irrelevant. He was a demon , a literal being from hell, and even if I could ignore his ties to evil, it was crystal clear that we ran in different circles.

The way he'd screwed his nose up at the sight of my room had been enough of a clue. It was a shite hole, granted. I hadn't exactly had the time to do a spring clean before his arrival, but come on. His reaction had exceeded disgust and flown straight into deep-rooted snobbery. So what if I had a few shirts and socks acting as a rug? Any normal person would've plastered on a smile and passed judgement inside their own head, but he'd tiptoed around as if I were a peasant living in squalor.

I absolutely was not.

When I could be arsed—or was in the right mood—I took pride in my home. ‘Polishing a turd' came to mind, but it wasn't my fault that the cheapest place to rent was the poxy shoebox flat above my shop, so I worked with what I had. He was just a privileged twat, and we had absolutely nothing in common, so even if I could overlook the demon thing, we weren't compatible.

And why on earth am I even giving it thought?

I squeezed the steering wheel tighter and forced my attention back to the road, grateful that my inner monologuing was good for something. It had killed the already-short journey, so I hadn't the time to spiral further and start imagining what our babies might've looked like.

That level of delusion wasn't on my to-do list.

As soon as the street was in sight, I pulled into the nearest empty parking space at the side of the road, deciding to walk the rest. There was no dawdling or grace in the way I locked the car and shoved the keys into my back pocket—the sooner this whole mess was sorted, the better for everyone involved. However, after barely a few hurried strides in the direction of the shop, I realised something was off .

It wasn't there.

It was now a… bookshop? The red sign above the door had been replaced with a worn-down script that read, Claremont Tomes & Tales—a place I'd never seen or heard of as it definitely hadn't been there before. I looked further down the street, making sure I hadn't taken a wrong turn, but the same charity shop and newsagent still stood at either side, and the same missing-cat poster—albeit with a heart-warming ‘Found' and a thank you note sharpied across it—was tacked to the lamp post at the edge of the pavement.

I narrowed my eyes as my mind raced through several possibilities, each more ridiculous than the last, but there had to be a rational explanation. I refused to further entertain the supernatural, not when I had plenty of that to contend with back at my flat—half-naked and making breakfast. So, much like before, I pretended it was a figment of my imagination and went inside.

It was oddly comforting to be greeted by the walls of books I remembered, but gone were the high shelves and ladders that had given me vertigo, replaced with average-height bookcases and shorter stepping stools. There were no narrow aisles filled with witchy supplies, or anything really. It was a small, square shop—the size I had expected on my first visit—selling dusty old books, nothing else.

Where had it all gone?

"Good morning! Are you looking for something in particular?" The kind voice startled me from my exploration, and I spun around to see a young woman, barely twenty, wearing round glasses and a pair of paint-covered dungarees. She was standing behind the only counter in the place, grinning widely in welcome.

She hadn't been here yesterday, but at this point, I had no choice other than conceding that none of this was the same as yesterday. Despite how much I wanted it to be the case, this wasn't a rushed paint job or a pop-up shop situation. It was magic, plain and simple, and I didn't yet know how to process that information.

Or if I ever really would.

With a sigh, I trudged forwards, already knowing my trip was pointless, but still clinging to whatever remained of my sanity. "Yeah, good morning. I was here yesterday, and I spoke to the tall guy with the hat…" I waved a hand above my head, ignoring the girl's confused frown. "Is he working today? I really need to speak to him."

"I'm the only person who works the till," she said with an apologetic smile. "My mum is usually on the shop floor, but she's in the back room today."

"There's no one else?" I was desperate, and probably sounded crazy when I added, "He looked like a kids' party magician."

"I'm sorry, but I can't say I know anyone like that." Poor lass probably thought I'd suffered a blow to the head and was now wandering around, lost and confused. Least she was nice about it. "Did you catch their name, lovey? "

I shook my head, dejection settling into my bones. "No."

"Are you sure it was here?" she asked when I offered no other information. "Tony, the guy in the butcher's a few doors down, is pretty tall and he wears a hair net?"

I leaned on the counter, breathing out an exasperated, almost silent, "It was a top hat."

"Sorry?"

"Nothing." It wasn't worth repeating, none of it was, and though I hated admitting defeat, there was no denying that all I'd done was waste time and petrol. The guy had quite literally saddled me with a demon, then fucked off with zero trace.

He couldn't have made his no returns policy any clearer.

I straightened and took a step back, faking a smile. "I must have gotten my shops mixed up. Silly me. Thanks, anyway." I turned to leave, but before reaching the door, that soft, friendly voice called after me.

"You're sure there's nothing else I can help you with?"

"No, no, you're fine," I assured her, the bell above the door jingling as I tugged it open. Better to get out of there before she called the police to have me committed. "Have a nice day."

All the breath in my lungs left me on a slow exhale as I stepped outside. What the fuck am I meant to do now?

Coming here had already blown a valuable hour that could have been spent working. Technically, it was my day off, but what good was one of those when I was stuck up shit creek without a paddle and falling so fast towards debt one had to wonder how I still stood upright? Absolutely none, was the answer to that, but demon summoning had put a hold on productivity, funnily enough, and my routine had to suffer.

I headed back to my car, my forehead connecting with the steering wheel as soon as I flopped my arse inside. Had I honestly thought it would be as simple as returning a shirt that was too small? Just nip back into the shop and come out one hell-born being lighter, no sweat.

Idiot. Of course it was going to be a pain in the hole—it wouldn't be a consequence of my actions otherwise. But now I was out of ideas and no further forwards.

Even the demon hadn't offered anything more of use. Not that I'd asked, but he'd seemed happy as Larry dancing around my kitchen as if he wasn't literally shackled to a failing florist in the arsehole of Scotland. I thought I had made it perfectly clear that finding a more user-friendly exit clause was my goal, but he hadn't expressed any interest in a way out. Which was no help at all. In fact, it made it worse. He was powerful, I'd seen it with my own eyes, and though he'd said sticking around until my wishes were met or I died were the only options, there had to be some loophole or counter spell.

Deals with devils were tricky, right? They were never black and white, more a shade of morally grey. But since the bastard obviously had no desire to leave, he also had no desire to help me work it out.

I could have begged, but something told me he would enjoy it and I didn't feel particularly charitable or willing to let go of the last sliver of pride I had. No, any path that involved demon intervention would prove even more hopeless than going back to the magic man had turned out to be.

So, what else was there?

Forehead still moulded to the leather wheel, I peeled my eyes open—as if a glimpse of the footwell would help me think better—and shifted my head from side to side, evening out the indent I no doubt had across my brow. It wasn't until the fourth neck crick that I started questioning my life choices, and suddenly, it dawned on me how I'd even found myself here in the first place.

The thought hit me like lightning, the source of my issue smacking me square in the face.

Sitting up with a start, I flipped down the sun visor and fished out the card I'd stuffed into the thin pocket there yesterday. The card with The Magic Shop's address. The unassuming slip of paper I'd been given just in case I decided to grit my teeth and seek help.

By my brother.

Of course. He was the one who'd introduced me to this circus in the beginning, so maybe he could do it again?

Decision made, I wrestled my phone from my pocket, unlocked it and tapped the only number in my favourites. It rang three times before connecting.

"Alright, mate," Wayne answered, his cheery voice tinged with surprise. "You missing me already?"

" Wayne . "

There was a pause, then a soft curse came through the speaker, followed by a sheepish, "What's up?"

"That wizard you sent me to…" I waited to let him catch up. "How do I get a hold of him once his shop disappears into outer space?"

"Oh, er…" There was a nervous laugh. "You can't? Apparently, he only pops up to help whoever needs him, then he leaves. That's kind of his whole thing. Didn't I tell you that?"

I let my head drop back against the headrest and closed my eyes, regretting not having had the presence of mind to come away with a debilitating spell of some sort. Then we'd both be suffering at the expense of my downfall. "Nope, you failed to mention that part. Or any part, actually."

I wasn't mad. Not really. It wasn't Wayne's fault I hadn't bothered to ask questions. I'd been too busy scoffing at the possibility of ending up at some back-alley organ harvester to fully absorb all the specifics.

In hindsight, would the loss of my vital organs have been preferred?

"Soooo," he said into the silence. "You actually went to him, then? What'd he say?"

"Oh, nothing much." I responded with the appropriate amount of sarcasm. "Gave me a spell and said I had to learn a lesson before all my dreams could come true. ‘Don't trust weirdos in pop-up shops' probably wasn't what he meant, but it's what I'm taking from it. "

"Did you do the spell?" my brother asked, as if that were a perfectly reasonable question. It tore a short laugh from me.

"Are you serious? Why is this whole situation not completely bonkers to you?"

"Maybe because I'm open-minded, and I believe that magic isn't just a fairy tale. Which, you already know …?" Okay, yeah, I did. It was a topic that came up for us every so often. Normally, we disagreed—with me being the diehard sceptic in this brotherhood—but now, my denial would have been considered gaslighting, so I just hummed in blithe agreement. "Right, so answer the bloody question."

For a split second, I thought about telling him the truth. He'd take it seriously, after judging my stupidity and probably gloating about my confirmation of the supernatural's existence, but what would it really accomplish? It wouldn't make the problem go away, and I didn't need him trying to convince me to just sleep with the guy. That decision was mine and mine alone. I also stood by my desire not to broadcast the mistake to the town, and though I trusted Wayne not to blab, giving the issue airtime felt counterproductive, like it would make things worse—more real .

I could handle it myself, as I usually did, and if that turned out not to be the case, well, I'd cross that bridge when I came to it.

And I'd be sure not to resort to magic spells a second time.

"No," I said, resolute.

Almost immediately, there was a scoff through the line .

"Lies." Tosser . "Someone who hadn't performed a magic spell—especially someone who was as against the idea of a magic shop as you were—wouldn't have hesitated that long."

Again… Tosser .

"Yes, fine. I did."

"And?"

"And nothing. It was pointless. I now have ashes in my carpet fibres that'll probably be there forever. Oh, and I got a free playing card. How life-changing."

" Tarot card," he corrected me, and I rolled my eyes.

"Whatever. The point is, it was a waste of time."

"Then why are you looking for the guy?" he asked, tone a little too knowing for my liking. "Are you expecting a refund on your wasted time ?"

"You're impossible."

"And you're full of shit," he said. I sent him a dry glare through the phone, hoping he could sense it. "Something happened, didn't it? I know you, Iz, you can't lie to save your hide. I don't know why you even try to."

Thinking a phone call with Wayne would be a quick, no-details-exchanged chat had been very optimistic on my part. He was a perceptive arsehole at best, a psychic at worst, and as he said, no matter how much I tried to deny it, he did know me. Too well. The only person who actually did. And though he always let me solve shit on my own, it never put him off asking questions. Especially if he thought I was in trouble. He was a pretty good big brother .

The best, really.

"Okay, yes, something happened, but—" I cut myself off with a sigh, scrubbing a hand through my hair. My skin was starting to feel way too tight. "Look, I don't want to dig into it right now. I will , once I find a way to reverse it or figure out another route, but I'm at capacity for socialisation and I need to process it all myself first."

"Hey, no pressure! It's your business and I won't push, even though I'm dying to. But…" He hesitated. "Are you safe, Iz? That's all I care about."

"Yeah, I think so… Yeah." The demon hadn't killed me yet. That was my gauge. "I was just… I was hoping to make it all go away quickly, y'know?"

"You're not gonna like what I'm about to say…"

Judging by the cringe in his voice, I didn't doubt it, but I hummed for him to continue, anyway. May as well take whatever advice he had to offer.

"If the guy said you have to learn a lesson, then that's the only way out of this. The terms of the agreement have to be honoured."

Well, he wasn't wrong. I didn't like that answer. "Wonderful."

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry," he said after a beat, voice filled with regret. It made the tension in my body ease. "I should have given you more warning about the whole thing. I just… I half expected you to look at the sign and go home. "

I huffed a faint laugh. "Desperation got the better of me. The window display wasn't too shabby either."

"I'm sorry, Iz."

"Don't be," I said easily. "You did nothing wrong."

I bumped my head against the headrest, staring up at the car roof for a moment.

I hadn't meant to make Wayne feel guilty. Maybe I'd felt a little blamey in the beginning, but ringing him was a last-ditch attempt at fixing a problem, nothing more. While yes, he was technically to blame for giving me the cursed address, he hadn't forced me to act on it. I'd chosen to go inside, I'd chosen to take the spell, and I'd chosen to perform it. He'd meant no malice, that went without saying. He'd noticed my suffering, seen what he thought was a reasonable solution, and tried to help. How could anyone fault him for that?

Besides, whether he actually had helped wasn't clear yet. I'd just have to wait and see.

"You know, you can usually transfer things like this to someone else?" I knew exactly where he was going before he even added, "I could take—"

"Absolutely not." I sat up straighter. "This is my mess, so either I'll fix it or I'll suffer through it. Not you. No."

"Alright, alright," he agreed, though it sounded strained. "Well, if there's anything I can do, you know I'm here for you."

For the first time in too long, I felt myself smile properly. "Yeah, I know. I'll keep you updated. Maybe. "

Wayne laughed, the sound genuine and rich. "After twenty-eight years, I've learned not to take your weeks of silence, or your refusal of help, to heart."

"What did I do to deserve such an understanding brother, huh?"

"I'm a fucking saint. I have to be, to deal with your stubborn arse."

I snorted, not exactly disagreeing. "Love you too."

The call ended not long after, and I sat there for several minutes, staring at nothing. While I felt a smidge lighter having spoken to my brother, all it had really achieved was drilling in the fact that nothing could be done. I'd tried, and I'd failed. I had no other options but to either accept the terms and have my needs fulfilled, or spend the rest of my life with a hellish being attached to my hip. There was no current favourite, surprisingly, but no matter what I chose, only one thing was certain…

For the foreseeable, I had a demon roommate.

And I didn't know how to feel about it.