Shadow‘s Reach (Halloween Noir) - 12. Reunion and an Unwelcome Call

The dining room of Maison Noir seemed alive, yet it was quiet as ever. Alex sat in his chair, his fork spearing a piece of scrambled egg without conviction. The morning sunlight streamed golden through the windows, accenting the delicate patterns of the dark wood-paneled walls. Everything about the room—about the house—felt like it had shifted since yesterday, since that incident. Alex couldn’t explain it, but he could feel it: Maison Noir wasn’t just aware of him. It was somehow connected to him now, more than he could understand or admit.

And because of that, he couldn’t relax. Not with Solomon so composed across the table from him, watching over him in that steady, unshakable way of his. They had a long talk yesterday, after Solomon returned. About his transformation, the power surge and the house, and of course Jacques’ behavior. Jacques—and his kiss—that still made his heart race at odd intervals.

He would have stayed lost in his thoughts were it not for the sudden chime of the doorbell. It jolted Alex out of his reverie, his fork scraping against his plate.

Solomon rose promptly, his movements as precise and weightless as ever. “Please, stay here,” he requested, smoothing an invisible wrinkle on his sleeve. “I’ll see to it.”

Alex nodded, though his heart had already picked up pace, thudding in his chest. He gripped the edge of his napkin tightly, the sound of Solomon’s retreating footsteps leaving him alone with his thoughts—thoughts that circled back to yesterday’s hollow ache, the suffocating sense of being left behind, deserted by everyone, Solomon, even Jacques, however briefly.

And like some cosmic joke—or fate playing its hand too soon—it was Jacques’s voice that echoed down the hall mere moments later. Alex’s breath caught before he could stop it. Another voice, somewhat higher pitched and unfamiliar, answered him—one of his friends, perhaps? Alex swallowed hard, suddenly unsure whether to make himself scarce or stay and face whoever Solomon had admitted into the house.

He had no chance to decide. The footsteps were already returning, louder now, as they approached the room.

“Alex,” Solomon called as he re-entered, an enigmatic expression on his face. “We have company.”

Jacques stepped into the breakfast room behind him, as self-assured and radiant as Alex remembered. His shirt clung to his broad shoulders, and the faint smile that tugged at his lips sent Alex’s thoughts spinning into chaos.

Jacques’s sharp gaze immediately found Alex at the table, his expression softening in an instant. “Alex,” he said, his warm voice carrying a tremor of something deeper, almost apologetic. Without hesitating, Jacques crossed the room with purpose and pulled Alex into a firm, sudden hug, his presence magnetic and grounding all at once. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, the words meant for Alex alone, though they carried the weight of something lingering between them. “About yesterday. We’ll talk later, I promise.” For a fleeting moment, the tension in the room dissolved, Maison Noir’s heavy, protective presence seeming to release its grip as if granting the two a reprieve. Alex froze, his heart hammering in his chest, before leaning into the embrace.

“Ok,” was all Alex could reply.

Behind Jacques, another guy entered with some hesitation. Alex thought he might have seen him before. He was smaller and broader, with a ruggedness that contrasted with Jacques’s cultivated elegance. Marcus’s sharp, assessing eyes scanned the room, narrowing slightly as though he didn’t quite trust the air around him.

Solomon stepped aside, motioning toward the table. “Please join us. The hour is perfect for breakfast.

“Perfect for breakfast,” Marcus muttered, though he looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. He still eased into one of the chairs with apparent care, as if he expected the chair to vanish beneath him.

Jacques reclined in his own chair like he owned the room, one arm draped over the side, his fingers absentmindedly tapping the rim of his still-empty coffee cup. “Before we get into… whatever the hell’s going on with this house,” he said, his tone casual but carrying a natural confidence that kept everyone listening, “let me introduce Marcus here.” He motioned toward his friend with a jerk of his thumb. “We go way back to Uni. The guy’s had my back more times than I can count—not the easiest job, right? He’s had his brush with magic, too, so don’t worry about holding back on my account or his. Marcus isn’t about to freak out.” Jacques smirked in Marcus’s direction. “Although, you know, his manners could use some work.”

Marcus rolled his eyes, leaning back in his seat with an exaggerated sigh, but Jacques wasn’t done. Turning back to Solomon and Alex, his grin turned a little lopsided, almost playful. “Don’t let his whole ‘gruff tough guy’ look fool you—he’s sharper than he lets on.

Jacques gestured casually toward Marcus, who was still eyeing Maison Noir’s walls like they might spring to life. “And Marcus, sharp as you are, you’ve probably guessed already, this is Alex—the, ah, charming guy you briefly met when we were out in the Quarter two nights ago.” He allowed the barest hint of a smirk to curl his lips as he added pointedly, “You remember... Zombie Guy.”

Alex groaned and hid his face behind his hand, his pink-tinged ears betraying how much the attention had flustered him.

Marcus froze mid-motion, his hand perched halfway to his coffee cup that Solomon had just filled. He turned to Alex with an expression that teetered between confusion and disbelief, his brows jumping almost to his hairline. “No way,” Marcus said, blinking several times as if Alex might blur back into the skinny, pale figure he’d seen two nights before. “That’s not—there’s no way. Zombie Guy looked like he’d been living on saltines and shadows! This—” He waved at Alex, who flushed but couldn’t quite pull his shoulders away from the compliment. “—this looks like a guy who eats the gym for breakfast.”

Jacques outright laughed, the sound warm and rich as his sharp eyes flicked toward Alex. “Well,” Jacques drawled, “what can I say? Dragging him to the gym yesterday clearly worked wonders. This, everyone, is the grand result of my sophisticated methods.” He winked toward Alex with a playful shade of mischief. “Quick, effective, and absolutely excruciating.”

Marcus leaned forward in his chair with an incredulous snort, shooting a half-grin at Jacques. “Drag me to the gym right now!” he joked, clapping a hand to the arm of his chair. “If one visit to the gym turned Zombie Guy into—uh—this, I’ll take my chances. Ladies, here I come!”

Solomon cleared his throat softly, breaking through the banter with the faint air of a tutor herding unruly students. “I’m certain we shall have ample opportunity to examine the nuances of Alex’s… transformation,” he said, his gaze steady but not unkind as he turned toward Marcus. “For now, let us proceed under simpler terms. Welcome, both of you.”

“Talking about transformations,” Jacques said, “what happened to the house? It seems… different.

Alex stiffened at that, holding his breath for a moment, but he didn’t dare look Jacques in the eye.

Solomon folded his hands before him and inclined his head. “I should imagine it does,” he replied smoothly. “Maison Noir has indeed shifted since your last visit. Alex experienced a… moment of magical energy build-up yesterday. It has altered the house, reinforcing protections that were already impressive by most standards.”

Jacques’s brows rose half an inch, though his demeanor remained calm. “A moment, you say? That must have been some moment.” His gaze slid sideways toward Alex, and his lip curled with the faintest of smirks. “And here I thought you’d been behaving yourself.”

“Uh...” Alex muttered awkwardly, half to himself, glancing at Solomon for rescue.

Solomon cleared his throat to draw attention away from Alex and interjecting with a calming tone. “What Alex experienced was… unintentional, but significant. His magic, untamed though it may be, is potent—perhaps dangerously so. The effect on Maison Noir is a testament to that.”

Alex, suddenly feeling all eyes on him, sighed and leaned forward, bracing his arms against the table. “I didn’t mean to do it,” he said, his words tripping over one another. “I didn’t mean to do anything. I was panicking. It just happened, and now everything feels… different. More alive! I know I probably screwed something up—”

“Alex.” Jacques’s voice cut through Alex’s rambling, quiet but steady. When Alex risked a glance at him, the teasing smirk was gone, replaced by something warmer. “You didn’t screw anything up.” He leaned forward, a hand resting casually on the table between them. “If anything, it sounds like you made the house’s protections even more formidable.”

“Which reminds me,” Solomon hesitated for the briefest moment before speaking softly to Jacques, “the amulet I gave you yesterday—I need to take it back now, please. Maison Noir will protect you while you’re here, and… it’s important that you’re no longer hidden from other eyes. It’s safer this way. Trust me.”

Jacques paused, his brow furrowing as he processed Solomon’s words. His hand went to the faint shape of the amulet beneath his shirt. He didn’t ask questions, though, not right now—not when Solomon looked at him with that calm, steady earnestness. “Alright,” Jacques said, tugging the amulet free and slipping it over his head. He placed the amulet in Solomon’s waiting palm. “Just let me know if this ends with me glowing like a damn beacon again,” he added, half a joke but laced with genuine trust.

Solomon gave a faint, deferential nod, carefully folding the amulet into his inner pocket as if it were something sacred. “Thank you,” he said, the weight of his gratitude clear despite his soft tone. “It’s better this way. Please forget about it… for now.”

From his place at the other side of the table, Marcus’ eyes watched the exchange. He didn’t say anything, but his gaze lingered on the amulet as it vanished into Solomon’s pocket. There was tension in Solomon’s careful movements and for all the nonchalance in putting it away, that little trinket wasn’t just some charm to ward off bad luck.

***

The sharp ring of Solomon’s phone shattered the quiet hum of the breakfast table. He moved with practiced calm, pulling the phone from his pocket and, glancing at his phone, a faint hint of something—excitement, perhaps, or even anticipation—flickered across his usually composed features. When the name “Madame Marie” left Solomon’s lips, Jacques and Marcus both stiffened, their shared glance heavy with unspoken understanding.

“Wonderful,” Jacques murmured under his breath, setting his coffee cup down with a soft clink. Marcus leaned back in his chair, his jaw tightening as a faint smirk worked one corner of his mouth, though there was no humor in it.

Alex frowned, glancing between them. “Who’s Madame Marie?” he asked, the question lingering at the edges of curiosity and apprehension.

Jacques shot Alex a look, then shrugged. “Fortune teller. Oracle. the strain in his shoulders. “You really don’t want her knowing your business unless it’s unavoidable.”

“Neutral,” Marcus added, arms crossed as he watched Solomon rise, phone in hand. “But probably dangerous—talk less when she’s involved, trust me.”

Without further hesitation, Solomon accepted the call, raising the phone to his ear. “Good morning, Madame Marie,” he said, his voice softer than usual, almost deferential.

Jacques and Marcus exchanged a knowing glance, while Alex merely furrowed his brow, watching the scene unfold.

The other end of the call could not be heard, but Solomon’s eyes shifted momentarily to Jacques as he listened. “Yes,” he said, “you’re quick to catch on. He’s here at Maison Noir now.”

A pause. Solomon’s brows knitted together, and he turned, glancing back at Alex as well. “Not coming here anymore? I… understand,” he murmured. Though his words were calm, there was a faint edge of surprise in his tone. “An alternate meeting location,” he continued, his voice steady. “Yes, I know the place.”

He was silent for a moment, listening with concentration, before he spoke again, this time with restrained caution. “I understand, Madame Marie. You must remain impartial—that’s always been clear. I’ll share no more than necessary.”

There was the faintest hum from the other end—perhaps of approval—before the line went dead. Solomon took a moment to slip the phone back into his jacket pocket, his expression thoughtful but unreadable as he turned to the others.

“My apologies for the interruption,” he said, dipping his head slightly in Jacques and Alex’s direction. “But I’m afraid this is one of those things we cannot avoid. Madame Marie has made it clear: we’re expected elsewhere.”

“Elsewhere?” Jacques leaned back, crossing his arms. “What’s changed?”

“The other factions,” Solomon explained calmly, “are… uneasy about Maison Noir after Alex’s discharge.” He glanced at Alex with an inscrutable expression before continuing. “They refuse to set foot here now. There also seems to have been a major incident last night affecting some of their business, which caused distress. So now, they’ve requested another meeting location where they feel safer to… evaluate you both. Madame Marie has tasked me with escorting you there. This is non-negotiable. I’m sorry.”

“So we’re going to meet the wolves in their den instead of ours,” Marcus said, smirking faintly in a way that did nothing to disguise the tension in his voice. “Sounds fair.”

Solomon’s posture softened slightly, though there was a determined set to his jaw. “This is one obligation we must honor,” he said, his eyes steady on Jacques and Alex. “For years, this city has been at an extremely uneasy peace, awaiting your arrival. We cannot afford to incite their suspicion—or their ire—by refusing. We will be careful, and it will be swift. We are guaranteed safe passage.” He drew a deep breath, straightening. “I suggest you both prepare. We’ll leave soon.”

Jacques exchanged a wary glance with Marcus before exhaling a resigned sigh. “All right, fine,” he muttered, pushing back from the table and standing. “But don’t expect me to roll out a red carpet for these psychos.”

Alex, still trying to wrap his head around the sudden shift in plans, glanced nervously between the two older men. “What do they mean by… evaluate us?” he asked cautiously.

“That,” Solomon said with a faint, enigmatic smile, “is a question only they will answer. But fear not, Alex. I’ll make certain you both return in one piece.” Though he spoke reassuringly, there was a distinct tension beneath his words, one Jacques didn’t miss.

“Great,” Jacques muttered under his breath. “Another day, another life-threatening excursion.” He plucked his jacket from the back of his chair. “Let’s get this over with.”