Between the Streets, Behind the Eyes (2)

A Boy with No Clue and a Man with Too Many

Fenner’s knees nearly gave out. He pressed against the warm post behind him, barely noticing the faint hum of breath under its surface.

Then, without warning, a deep voice spoke over his shoulder.

“Back away from him.”

The scarecrow-thing stilled.

It didn't retreat. But its hands froze in place, fingers twitching as if uncertain whether to reach or withdraw.

Fenner—holding his breath—looked up at the ‘post’ behind him, only to find himself staring directly at a chest that looked like it had been carved from 100 % marble and with 0 % modesty. A jacket pulled tight over broad shoulders, which did really nothing to hide the three pale scars just peeking above the collar. His eyes slowly traveled upward and met a pair of eyes that had absolutely no business being that blue.

The man didn’t look at him. He kept his gaze locked on the scarecrow-thing, whose head had tilted again.

“You’re meant to protect the town,” the man said, “not to intimidate its visitors.”

The thing gave a low, watery rattle, like the rotten insides of a watermelon spilling from one side to the other, but it slowly lowered its arms, one joint at a time, until the limbs dangled like wilted branches. Then, like a film skipping a scene, the creature turned and vanished into the fog.

The fog lingered a beat longer, curling in tighter, but it too began to withdraw, dissolving at the edges.

Fenner cleared his throat, adjusted his posture, and ignored his shaking legs. “I-I’m sorry. I thought you’re a sign post. I didn’t mean to disregard your personal space like that.” He mumbled, tumbling a few steps back.

The man, however, didn’t reply. Instead, he bent down, picking up the slip of paper Fenner had dropped without noticing. “Oh! That’s mine!” he gasped, reaching for it, but the man already held it, reading what it said.

He glanced from the paper to Fenner before he held it out to him. “No worries. I think it’s the shoulders.” He said. “People always mistake me for a sign post.”

Fenner blinked, taking the note back. “Are… Are you special, too? Like, you know, magic? Maybe the Grim Reaper’s gym buddy? I—I’m Fenner. I’m doing my job today. I mean, I’m usually not…not here. I’m… I’m not… well, magic. Just confused. And I’d like to go home.”

The man gave him a small smirk and extended a hand. His grip was warm and firm when he shook Fenner’s hand briefly.

“I’m Grant.”

Fenner held his breath for a moment.

Grant.

Hadn’t he heard that name somewhere before?

Grant nodded at the list. “Any luck with that so far?”

Fenner shook his head. “Uhm… no. I dropped out of the sky, argued with cobblestone, and—“

“And followed a protection charm straight into the fog. That’s not very smart.”

Fenner glanced at the ground, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like a complaint. “I didn’t know. It’s not like I’m dangerous.”

Grant couldn’t help but agree to that. The boy was useless. A waste of space. But not dangerous.

However, the traces of the Four Fourty-Four, Orrin’s wretched, damned place, were all over him. Naturally, a protection ward would pick up on that. And this one wouldn’t be the only one.

Grant waited for the boy to look up, but he kept his eyes on the list, looking somewhat frozen.

“Got here by yourself then?” he asked, not really because he wanted to know. But… where this human was, Orrin would be, too. And he needed to know if he was okay. The last time he’d seen him at the shop… Grant shivered. He didn’t want to think about this. Not again.

Fenner rubbed the back of his neck. “Uhm, yeah. I’m supposed to pick up things for Orrin. Don’t think you know him. I sort of work for him. He’s got a shop full of rude things, but I fell through a puddle with a friend who wasn’t really my friend—… you know what, it’s complicated. Let’s leave it at that.”

Grant’s jaw tightened. The mention of Orrin twisted something behind his ribs.

Fenner, though, didn’t notice. He was too busy folding the list with the kind of care normally reserved for love letters or medical certificates needed for insurance claims .

“So… this shop,” Grant said, voice careful, “you just work there?”

Fenner nodded. “I have a room in the apartment above. I don’t really know what my job is, but I usually prepare breakfast, keep things tidy—like… uh… do magic people have cleaning personnel? Because I think I’m that. Didn’t really get hired. More like cursed. But I’ll survive.” He gave a strained smile, like someone trying to turn a nosebleed into a fun anecdote. “I’d tell you more about my room, but it changes all the time. Don’t even dare to open my drawer. It bites.”

Grant studied him. Still human. Still intact. But carrying residue that didn’t belong anywhere near a boy like him. It wasn’t his business at all —that boy could be devoured by the abyss itself and he’d watch with a smile—but something about this irked him.

And he figured it out almost a thought later: Orrin wasn’t just letting people inside the Four Forty-Four now. He was keeping them.

“And you’re not like me? You know. ‘Magic’, how you’d phrase it?” Grant asked, even though he already knew the answer. It was obvious that he wasn’t. Too meek. Too easily replaced. Filthy with the residue of that place. Aura unclean.

The boy had absolutely no idea about anything—truly, a human. And not to his surprise, he shook his head. “Nope. I’m 0 % magic. Met a girl I liked when I worked in a bakery in a small town. Was sort of my downfall.”

Grant nodded. “I’m sorry. That’s probably a lot to process.”

Fenner gave a dry laugh. “A lot. There’s a knight made of clay who keeps attacking the broom. And a plant trying to choke me. And a cursed phone booth. And drawers and cupboards doing like… everything.”

Grant’s mouth twitched. He didn’t want to find the boy’s obliviousness funny. But he did.

“I don’t think Orrin’s shop is a good place for a human,” Grant said, waiting for the inevitable blow of Fenner saying ‘I guess it’s alright, I’m with my boyfriend.’ but it never came. So he topped it up. He’d get the boy to spill the damn beans. And then he could move on. Finally.

“I never thought Orrin will settle for a human.”

Fenner shrugged. “Well, he didn’t really settle. Just as I didn’t. We were told it’s like that now by the girl I fell for. Told you, fell through a puddle, straight after my girl—well, the girl. Orrin argued with her for a bit. She said I’ll have to stay. He stopped arguing. And I got doomed to stay. But it’s fine. Not like I can change it.”

Grant fought the urge to smile. So he looked away, down the fog-cleared street. For a long moment, he said nothing. Fenner, sensing the shift but not understanding it, rubbed the back of his neck again. The list crinkled softly in his hand.

“I mean,” Fenner added awkwardly, “I didn’t plan to end up there. But it’s not the worst place I’ve lived. I get fed. The bed doesn’t bite. Orrin’s… nice. And patient. I make a lot of mistakes.”

Grant’s gaze snapped back at that. “Patient?” he repeated, his voice distant.

“Yeah?” Fenner said, missing the weight in the word. “Like… unnervingly so. But I think it’s just a personality quirk. He says things like ‘silly boy’ and smiles all the time when I make a mess or can’t complete the easiest task. He was pretty laid back when he took me to the weird store and… well, I think he’s super busy, but he still promised to go together when we need groceries because I’m terrified of that place.”

Grant looked at him for a moment longer, then turned his eyes to the sky — or what passed for sky here. It pulsed faintly, like a bruise under gauze.

“Is he busy today, too? I think it would be easier for you to have someone with you, you know. Someone magic.” It was a tease—if not mockery—but the boy didn’t catch it. He just shrugged.

“I didn’t want to go alone, but before I could say anything, I dropped out of the sky. I guess he’s busy preparing things for later.”

“Later?”

Fenner nodded again. “Yeah. Little Sir Menace—the clay knight I mentioned— got himself all dirty. Berry juice. Orrin can’t get it out of the clay, so he plans to craft him a new armor.” He nodded at the list in his hands. “Hence the errand list. I’m the idiot tasked with getting the things.”

Grant gave a short breath, almost a laugh. Still joking, he thought. Still unaware. Which meant Orrin hadn’t touched him. Not truly. Not yet. But the shop wouldn’t keep someone human unless it wanted to. And Orrin wouldn’t keep someone unless he’d already decided what they were worth.

Grant’s fingers twitched at his side. What a mess.

“I didn’t know Orrin can do that.” Grant said in a casual tone. “He’s not a crafter, you know. More a painter.”

Fenner tilted his head. “I didn’t know he paints. Do you know each other?”

Grant hesitated. Not long. Just enough. But Fenner, ever oblivious, didn’t notice the silence stretch.

“Yeah,” Grant said eventually, gaze fixed just past Fenner. “I sometimes deliver objects to his shop. Or take them when it gets too full. I’ve done that for a couple… well, centuries, actually. Wouldn’t call it knowing.”

Fenner stood straighter now, eyes widening slightly . “So… Uhm…” He rubbed the back of his neck, looking around as if afraid someone would hear him. “You don’t think you can take all the drawers? I hate them.”

Grant gave a dry huff of breath. “I’m afraid not.”

Fenner sighed. “Too bad.”

Grant watched him for another beat—that boy with no clue, an impressive amount of bad timing, and a list of impossible items in his hand...

He doesn’t belong in that house, he thought.

“Anyway,” Fenner said, shifting awkwardly, “I should… uh, keep going. I’m not emotionally prepared to be alone with the fog. Also… Orrin is patient, but Little Sir Menace is not.”

Grant almost smiled. “Don’t worry about the fog. To be honest, I’m running similar errands. I could walk with you.”

Instantly, the boy lit up. “Oh god, please. I’ll pay you. Well… I think I will. If I’m getting paid by Orrin. I’m not sure… Am I getting paid?”

Grant snorted. “If you're not sure, you're probably not.” He nodded down the street. “But that’s fine. You don’t need to pay me. But when you get back, maybe bring the payment topic up with Orrin.”

They followed the twisting street together. The fog no longer thickened, but it didn't quite retreat either — it clung to the edges like an over-interested curtain. The shops blurred by in flickers and the other buildings—the ones that looked like houses—vanished when they got too close.

“What a weird place.” Fenner mumbled. “I’ll rate this a much worse experience than the groceries.”

Grant couldn’t help but chuckle. “Why aren’t you learning magic? I’m sure things would make more sense then.” Then again, if he would have that knowledge, he’d understand that the houses were disappearing because of him. Or more like because of the trace of Orrin that stuck to the boy like glue.

Fenner tilted his head toward Grant. “You can learn that?”

Grant nodded. “You can learn just about everything. Didn’t he ask you?”

Fenner pressed the folded list tighter against his chest, shaking his head. “No. He asked me if I miss being with humans. And that if I want to, I can stroll around a bit. We were in a mall back then. But then he said it can be a different time or a parallel universe and I got scared. So I stayed home.”

Grant looked at him for a long moment—not unkindly, but like he was trying to decide whether Fenner was lucky, stupid, both, or neither.

“That sounds like him,” he said eventually. But it really did not.

Fenner made a face. “Yeah, he does that a lot. Says things like ‘you may, if you like,’ and then disappears through a floorboard or into a cabinet or somewhere else completely illegal.”

Grant’s brow lifted. “Illegal?”

Fenner gave him a long look, long enough to almost walk into a flower pot hopping down the street. “Yeah. Like… you know. You make breakfast, he sits there, and suddenly he just melts into the chair and is gone. Can’t tell me that’s legal. What if that leaves a stain if he does it wrong? Or what if he catches fire if he confuses spells. I wouldn’t know what to do.”

Stupid, Grant decided. The boy was damn stupid. Not only oblivious. As if Orrin—Orrin—would confuse spells or make mistakes. That boy really had no clue who he was living with. And Grant wasn’t sure if he liked that or not. This was a recipe for disaster. If not something entirely worse.

They passed a storefront shaped like a teapot that seemed to be boiling itself, steam curling into script across its windows. Fenner squinted at it, trying to read the letters, then shook his head as if the alphabet had personally betrayed him.

“So,” Fenner said after a moment. “If I did want to learn magic. Not saying I do. But if I did… how would that even work? It’s not like… like going to Hogwarts, right?”

“Hog-what?”

“Hogwarts. That’s a school for wizards and witches. Well… it’s a book. Used to be pretty popular, but they learn magic there.”

Grant chuckled again. He really was a silly boy. He’d had to give Orrin that.

“No, you don’t go to Hogwarts to learn magic.”

“Then how does one learn it?”

Grant made a sound between a sigh and a chuckle. “It depends.”

“On?”

“Some learn by instinct. Others by lineage. Some… just get lucky. Or unlucky.”

Fenner frowned. “That sounds terribly vague.”

Grant hesitated but thankfully, the boy got distracted a moment later.

Up ahead, perched on a crooked gaslight, there was a cat. Its seven eyes blinked—some in sequence, some not at all. Grant looked away, but Fenner stepped closer, looking up at it.

“Okay, not to be that human, but I’m pretty sure that’s the same cat I saw before.”

Grant didn’t take a closer look, he didn’t need to. “That’s just how cats look like in this place.” He lied, fighting the urge to stare at it.

He knew Orrin’s brush strokes, the elegance behind them, the creepy way they blurred in and out of existence if one looked too long. It was clear that the boy meant something to him. Orrin wouldn’t waste his ability to watch over just anyone.

To his surprise, the boy picked the topic back up. “So, about the magic learning.”

Grant couldn’t help but smile, but Fenner wasn’t done.

“What can you do? Fly? Teleport? Make yourself invisible?”

Grant gave him a glance, debating whether to lie or disappoint. In the end, he settled on honesty. “Not much. I just make sure what needs returning gets returned. Eventually.”

Fenner stopped in his tracks. “That’s not magic. That’s like… a librarian calling me to tell me the book I borrowed is overdue.”

Grant huffed a laugh. “Sure,” he said. “If your book is across three time lines, cursed, or on fire.”

Fenner squinted. “Okay. That’s… actually kind of cool.”

Grant shrugged, the motion easy, but there was an undertone to it. “It’s not flashy. Not like Orrin’s ability.”

“What does he do? I mean, I know he has the shop and all. But what magic does he have to run it? Does he teleport?”

“He makes things true,” Grant said. “When he paints something, the world adjusts to it. Not instantly. Not always. But enough.”

He nudged Fenner down the street, ignoring that the cat followed them from a safe distance. The cobblestones beneath their feet shifted every now and then, but only slightly—like something large and bored was stretching beneath the skin of the road.

The boy, of course, didn’t notice. Magic could probably jump into his face and he’d be oblivious to it.

Fenner blew out a breath. “Could you pick your ability? Or do you learn and it just develops?”

Grant tilted his head at the question. “You don’t pick it,” he said. “Not unless you’re the kind of creature who gets to bargain. The ability picks you. So if you want to learn magic, you should start by reading about what abilities are there and what consequences each one can bring.”

Fenner raised an eyebrow. “Consequences?”

Grant was quiet a moment longer this time. “Magic doesn’t grow in a vacuum. It grows around something. A wound. A wish. A weakness. Maybe you said ‘yes’ to something without realizing that you did. And then you’re stuck with that. It’ll dictate how your life will develop. What you get. What you… what you keep or lose.”

“That’s a terrifying concept.”

Grant nodded. “It should be. Magic should not be wielded without respect for it. It’s not a game. It’s serious and dangerous.”

They turned the corner and the fog hissed gently between their steps. Up ahead, a shop loomed, one that didn’t vanish the moment Fenner looked at it. Its roof was slanted, the door loopsided, and the windows blinked slow and tired like eyes that had stayed open too long.

And just above it, the cat again, perched on the shop’s sign like punctuation, tail curled, watching him. Fenner threw up his hands.

“Okay, no. That’s the fifth time. It’s following me. I’m being stalked by a sentient punctuation mark.”

Grant didn’t laugh this time. He just looked up at the cat, and the cat—this time—didn’t blink any of its seven eyes. It just stared at him. Calm. Composed. And very capable.

Grant looked away. Focused back on Orrin’s boy.

He knew a warning when he saw one. And this was a very loud warning.

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