Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Westbridge classrooms have been struggling with the sudden drop in temperature, the unseasonably warm seventy-degree days of mid-September giving way to windy days at least twenty degrees cooler. It’s been a coin toss on whether Carolina will swelter in her sweater or shiver in her light jacket.

It’s a relief to come into her homeroom and realize that they’ve finally figured out a compromise. Carolina pauses next to her chair, tugging off her sweater and wrapping it momentarily around her waist. She makes a mental note to put it in her locker before her first class.

“I hear it’s supposed to be seventy again for Halloween,” Wash says.

“It is?” Caboose says. He frowns thoughtfully. “Maybe I should bring water when we go trick or treating. People might get hot in their costumes!”

Tucker doesn’t grimace, exactly, but he exchanges a long look with Church. Clearly he’s envisioning himself helping Caboose haul armfuls of water bottles around the neighborhood.

Church grins back, wholly unsympathetic. “Good idea, Caboose. Sorry I can’t help out. Family stuff.”

Niner looks curious. She leans across the aisle, propping herself on Carolina’s desk with her elbows. Her voice pitches low. “Yeah, what’s that like? You guys have some spooky traditions going on?”

Church narrows his eyes. “Spooky? We’re not the Addams Family.”

“Yeah,” Niner says, innocent until one corner of her mouth twitches. “You’re not that cool.”

Carolina swallows down a laugh as Church crosses his arms and slouches.

“What are you doing?” Connie asks. She’s grinning a little at Church’s obvious irritation, but she meets Carolina’s eyes with a genuinely interested look. “Besides not crashing Libby’s latest attempt at a party.”

It’s been a week since her birthday, and Carolina still isn’t used to the happiness that hits her whenever she’s reminded that her mom’s at the brownstone, spending time with her dad and waiting for Carolina and Church to get home.

“We’re having a family dinner.”

“Eating what? Eye of newt?” Niner asks.

This time Church doesn’t rise to the bait. He just rolls his eyes.

Wash glances towards the front of the room. His eyebrows rise. “Mr. Donut’s running late today. Think he’ll get here before or after the announcements?”

Connie smirks. “After. Last I saw, he and Mr. DuFresne were headed into the teacher’s lounge, talking about their costumes for Halloween. You know how intense he gets about it. Even September feels a little last minute for him.”

Tucker fiddles with one of his locs. “Wonder what–”

The door opens with a suddenness that makes nearly everyone, Carolina included, jump.

She turns, half-expecting Donut to be making an entrance, and instead sees her dad in the doorway.

Carolina looks up into his face, tense and unsmiling, and clocks that his tie is slightly askew. Her stomach drops. Something’s wrong. Her gaze darts past him into the hallway, looking for her mom. There’s no one there, the corridor strangely empty. A matching alarm is on Church’s face when she glances at him.

She starts up as Church scrambles out of his chair and almost trips over his book-bag.

The question catches in her throat. “Is– is Mom–”

“Your mother is fine,” their dad says. The tension doesn’t leave his face. He makes a small, aborted movement, like he’s about to look over his shoulder as well. Then he refocuses on them. “But I need you both to come with me immediately.”

Church opens his mouth, clearly about to ask why, before he glances at the rest of their homeroom. Most of the students just look curious. Some openly stare between Church and their dad. Church’s mouth snaps shut. He grabs his bag without a word.

Carolina reaches their dad’s side in a few short strides. “What’s going on?”

She whispers the question, but he still gives a small shake of his head. “I shall explain outside.”

“I’m sure it’s good news,” Church mutters sarcastically. There’s anxiety thrumming in his voice.

As Carolina steps out into the hallway, she looks back into the room. Her gaze lingers on Wash and their friends, all of whom are half out of their chairs. There’s worry and alarm in their faces, and Wash has his fists clenched like he’s ready to start swinging at someone.

She can’t bring herself to smile reassuringly at them, not when her stomach is still doing somersaults. Still, she manages a slight shrug and mouths, ‘I’ll try to explain later,’ before Church closes the door.

There’s no one in the hallway even now. No kid ducking into another classroom before the bell rings. No Kraft prowling hopefully for running students to give detention to. No Donut with a cup of coffee and an unrepentant smile on his face as he heads belatedly to his classroom.

The emptiness makes their dad’s voice echo strangely when he finally speaks.

“Listen very closely. I don’t know how much time we have.”

“We’re listening,” Church says before Carolina can ask what their dad thinks is about to happen.

Their dad plucks at his tie, but it’s an absent-minded gesture. He glances around the hallway. “Good. The keepaway incantation is holding. No unnecessary memory spells.” The words are half-muttered before his gaze goes sharp and focused on Carolina and Church. He straightens to his full height. Then he inhales sharply, as though gathering himself, and says, “The Council has learned about Richard and your friends and are…displeased. Let me handle this.”

Carolina’s stomach drops back down to the ground at the mention of the Council. She wants to protest, remembering only a few days ago, when she’d blown out the candles and been relieved that the Council could no longer touch any of them. She wants to argue that whatever they’re displeased about is probably stupid.

Instead she hears herself ask, voice strained, “Handle what?”

“Oh, many things,” a pleased voice says. “The charges regarding your flagrant disregard for Council law, however, to begin with. Strange how it seems to be a family trait.”

A wizened old man is suddenly standing beside them. He’s probably the oldest man Carolina has seen in her life, his skin stretched so tightly over his skull that he looks halfway to a skeleton. He wears an elaborate robe that his thin frame is almost lost in, but there’s no hood. It means Carolina can see the small smile on his thin lips.

Her dad’s face loses all expression. “Malcolm.”

The witch keeps smiling. “Leonard.” He looks at Carolina, who’s trying not to glare, and Church, who’s gone slightly green. An emotion flits across his face, one Carolina can’t read but leaves her unsettled anyway.

Then he steps back and claps his hands.

His voice booms out, loud as thunder.

“LEONARD CHURCH. CAROLINA CHURCH. JAMES CHURCH.”

As the names almost bounce off the wall, there’s a weird wrenching feeling in Carolina’s stomach, half-familiar. She only recognizes it as the same feeling from Simmons teleporting her and Church away from Felix and Locus when the corridor dissolves before her.

She, Church, and their father are no longer at Westbridge High. Instead they stand in a small, claustrophobic jail cell.

The witch their dad called Malcolm is standing outside the bars.

“YOU ARE HEREBY CHARGED WITH EXCESSIVE AND RECKLESS MORTAL FRATERNIZATION.”

Then he stops. The words seem to stay in the air for a long moment. He smiles again. Now Carolina recognizes the look: intense satisfaction.

“Among other charges, of course.”

“You’re going to be late for homeroom,” Frank says, but he’s smiling as he says it.

Donut waves a dismissive hand. The school budget has finally allocated enough funds to buy a new coffeemaker, and there’s no way he isn’t testing it out before class. He’s even brought some of his own beans from home. “The kids will keep.”

“Mm,” Frank says doubtfully.

Donut doesn’t remind him that technically he should also already be at the nurse’s office. It’s nice to have the teacher’s lounge to themselves. It means he can pull out his notebook and say, “I just wanted to get your opinion on the costumes before I put the final touches on them.”

Frank takes the opportunity to scoot closer on the couch, studying the sketches Donut has made. “Well, I admit that I’m still not a fan of vampires, but they do have style.”

Donut smiles at him. “They do.” He can’t wait to see Frank all dressed up in a waistcoat. The black and gold is going to bring out the colors in Frank’s eyes. He darts a glance towards the door, but it’s clear for the moment. He leans a little closer. “You’re going to make an even more handsome Louis than Brad Pitt.”

“Am I?” Frank says, amused. “You–”

He stops as Simmons rushes in, looking a little flustered to be running late.

Donut swallows back a protest as Simmons makes a beeline for the coffee. It’s not that he doesn’t mind sharing, otherwise he and Frank wouldn’t host the Wine and Cheese Nights, but also that’s his fancy coffee.

“They fixed the heating?” Simmons says, shrugging out of his jacket. It rumples his sweater vest enough that Donut spots something nestled between the vest and his shirt.

Frank leans forward, eyes brightening with curiosity. “That’s an interesting necklace. Needing a bit of harmony?”

Simmons freezes in the middle of pouring himself a mug. His gaze darts down to the necklace, a plain silver chain with a large quartz hanging from it. He quickly stuffs it back under his vest, flushing. “Harmony?”

“Quartz is good for that. Quartz is good for many things, actually! It helps with concentration and memory, balancing one’s environment, improving stamina–”

Simmons’ face has gone blank in the way it does whenever Frank starts talking about crystals. “Uh huh.”

Curiosity pricks at Donut as well. He takes a closer look at the necklace while Simmons finishes getting himself some coffee. There’s nothing special about the rock. It’s mostly colorless with some milky white streaks to it. “You never struck me as a jewelry kind of guy.”

Simmons takes a long swallow, then grimaces. Clearly the coffee is too hot. “It’s, uh.” He shrugs.

Donut’s even more curious than before, but Frank knuckles under with a laugh. Frank exchanges a look with him. In the slight quirk of his mouth and twitch of an eyebrow, Donut realizes Frank thinks Sam got Simmons the gift. It doesn’t seem like Sam’s style either though.

Still, Donut changes the subject. “So, are you coming to our Halloween party or are you ditching us like you always do?” He ignores Frank’s light elbow nudge. Simmons hasn’t come to any of their Halloween parties. It’s a crime.

Also a crime? How terrible Simmons is at lying. It’s a wonder he’s survived this long. Donut’s not really surprised when Simmons makes a half-apologetic face and mumbles, “Oh, is it time to start planning for Halloween already?”

Donut just stares at him.

Simmons fiddles with his glasses. “I, uh, already have plans. Sorry. Maybe next year?”

This time Donut ignores the elbow digging into his side. “What kind of plans?”

Weirdly, Simmons’ expression clouds. For a second he looks a weird mixture of sulky and flustered. He mutters something that sounds like, ‘Hawaii, apparently,’ before he flushes and says, “Um. Uh. Mr. McGruff hurt his knee so I volunteered to give out candy for him.”

“Uh huh,” Donut says flatly. “He won't be better in a month? He could–”

“Well, if your plans fall through, you and Sam are always welcome!” Frank says brightly.

Simmons squints. “Sam?”

“Of course, he–”

Donut doesn’t remember the door opening, but he must’ve been distracted by Simmons’ terrible lies. There’s another man standing in the teacher’s lounge. He’s definitely not a teacher, and he doesn’t have a visitor’s sticker either. He looks exactly like how Donut imagines an FBI agent would, wearing a crisp black suit and a sour look.

Simmons seems to recognize him. His face goes pale.

Frank starts to stand up, frowning, and Donut does too, excitement and worry fluttering in his stomach. All of his theories about how Sam and Simmons met swirl around in his head.

“Is everything okay?”

Simmons doesn’t look at him. He licks his lips. “Is– did something happen to–”

The man sneers. Donut reassesses his FBI agent theory as the guy says, “Oh, I think you should be more concerned about yourself.” He grabs Simmons’ arm. “Come with me.”

For a second, Simmons visibly tenses. Donut remembers the muscle underneath those sleeves, waits for Simmons to knock the guy’s hand away. Then Simmons looks towards him and Frank. There’s another flash of emotion across his face. His shoulders loosen.

“I’ll go. No need to, uh, do anything drastic.”

Donut’s excitement shifts to pure alarm. He instinctively moves, placing himself bodily between Frank and the guy. He ignores Frank’s startled whisper of protest as he looks over the guy, trying to figure out where his holster is hidden. He can’t see one, but the guy must be carrying.

“Simmons?”

Simmons offers him a sickly smile as the guy hauls him towards the door. “It’ll be okay.”

He’s such a bad liar.

Allison’s fist tightens on the dumbbell as the brownstone’s doorbell starts ringing in sharp, staccato bursts.

It wouldn’t be another one of the Council’s minions, she reminds herself even as she stalks towards the door. They would come through the closet, like they had when they’d grabbed Vanessa as a potential witness. Even if they did come through the front door for some reason, they definitely wouldn’t bother to knock.

She yanks the door open and stares, unsurprised, at a half-dozen worried teenagers clustered on the front step.

She recognizes them all from the party: Carolina and Church’s friends. They look a range of freaked out, worried, and relieved to see her. It’s only when Tucker’s eyes dart downwards and his alarm deepens that she realizes she’s holding the dumbbell like a weapon.

She forces herself to relax and step back. If they remember enough to be worried, then Leonard got to them in time. That’s something. “Come in.”

None of them hesitate, piling into the house.

“What’s going on?” Wash demands. His gaze is fixed on hers.

Allison swallows back her first instinctive response, which is to tell them that the shit’s hit the fan. Instead she buys herself a second by setting the dumbbell down on the coffee table.

As she straightens up and looks over the sea of worried faces, she reorients herself from Allison, who wants to punch Hargrove and the Council in the face, to Tex, who’s used to handling a group of angry, panicking people. She keeps her voice calm and matter-of-fact.

“Things got a little complicated. When Carolina and Church told you about being witches, what did they say?”

The kids all glance at each other.

“Uh, we can’t tell anyone they’re witches or they lose their magic,” Tucker ventures. Then he frowns and looks at the others. “Nobody–”

“We’re not stupid,” Niner says. “Nobody wants to be a statue.”

Tucker blinks. “A statue?”

Some of the alarm in Niner’s face gives way to confusion. Staring at Tucker, she says slowly, “Right. Snitch to other people, Church either turns you to stone or loses his magic.”

“What? Church didn’t talk about the statue thing! He just said he’d lose his magic!”

Allison can tell the conversation is about to get side-tracked, so she clears her throat. Everyone’s attention snaps back to her.

“Is Church in trouble?” Caboose asks, his eyes wide. “Is he going to get turned to stone?”

Allison doesn’t sigh, though she wants to. “Yes, he’s in trouble. No, he’s not getting turned to stone.” She doesn’t add that the most likely punishment is becoming a familiar. She keeps her voice steady even as fury burns hotter in her stomach. “The Council has a lot of rules about witches’ relationships with people like us.” Her gesture encompasses the group. “If they had their way, mortals wouldn’t know about witches at all. So you can imagine they weren’t happy once they figured out what Leonard and Dick were up to.”

“Dick?” Connie repeats. Then her eyes widen. “Mr. Simmons and magic. They found out.”

“Yep.”

“Wait, but–” Wash stops. His lips go thin. She watches his jaw work for a second before he continues. “No offense, but it’s Doctor Church who was teaching him magic. Why are Carolina and Church in trouble? They’re just kids.”

“Wish the Council cared about that,” Allison says. She gestures again, this time towards the couch and chairs. “C’mon, sit down. We’re gonna have to wait for news.” She should probably tell them to go back to school, but it’s a moot point.

Sheila starts to sit down before she hesitates. She looks around the living room like she’s seeing it for the first time today. Her frown deepens. “Mrs. Church…. Where are Doctor Grey and Ms. Kimball? Are they in trouble as well?”

Allison shrugs. “When the Council minions came to talk to Vanessa, they seemed more interested in questioning her as a witness. Wasn’t under arrest so I think they’re okay. Unless Vanessa says something stupid.” She hasn’t known the woman long, but she recognizes that sort of temper.

Niner scowls. “So, what, we’re just supposed to sit and twiddle our thumbs?”

If she were Carolina, Allison would tussle her hair and tell her that her face will freeze that way if she’s not careful. But she isn’t, and Carolina is in the Other Realm and facing the Council, and so Allison keeps her hands at her sides and breathes through her frustration.

“Yep,” she repeats. It takes everything in her to keep her voice matter-of-fact. “And be here for them, whatever happens next.”

“What could happen next?” Wash asks warily.

Caboose’s eyes widen. “Are Doctor Church and Mr. Simmons going to jail?”

Allison sighs. She weighs her options. She could talk them through the best or worst case scenarios, everything that’s been running through her head since Leonard, pale and focused in the way he gets during disasters, had taken her hand and warned her what was coming. She could explain that she doesn’t think Dick is getting out of this with his memory intact.

But that doesn’t feel helpful either when most of the kids are still standing, looking worried.

She gestures again. “Sit. I don’t know what’s gonna happen, but I know one thing. Whatever it is, we’ll be there to help. No point in getting worked up over what-ifs.”

She manages to hold onto her even tone even if that’s easier said than done. She’s not a person who likes sitting around. She’s meant to be in the middle of the action. She learned that the hard way when she retired from the Marines and spent a few miserable months as a civilian before she helped start up Rex Rescue.

“Do you, uh,” Tucker says hesitantly. “Do you know how long before we know anything?”

“Nope,” Allison says. “Vanessa promised me she’d try to keep me updated but–” She shrugs.

“Great,” Wash says. “So I guess we just wait.” He’s angry. She can tell from the set of his shoulders as he sits down in one of the chairs, his hands fists in his lap. He doesn’t relax even when Niner perches on the arm of his chair and squeezes his shoulder.

Allison understands. The fact that she’s not even allowed in the Other Realm when her entire family is on trial burns in her like a fire. It isn’t fair.

But for the moment the Council holds all the cards, so she’ll twiddle her thumbs and keep these kids calm. She’ll wait for the rolling thunder that announces someone’s returned to bring them news.

And whatever the news, whatever the Council decides, whatever happens next, she’ll be there to help.

“It’s hot in here, right?” Church asks. His hoodie is too tight on him, and he can feel sweat gathering on the back of his neck, under his arms, in the small of his back. He slouches on one of the beds in the cell, plucking at his hoodie and wondering if he should take it off. But then he’d be standing in front of the Council in a sweat-stained shirt whenever they decide to hold the trial.

Carolina’s pacing in a tight, furious circle like she can wear a hole in the floor and they can escape through it. Simmons is slumped on the other bed, clearly trying not to hyperventilate, with Grif sitting a few inches away, his ears flat and his fur bristling.

Leonard had moved to the cell’s bars, listening intently. Now he looks over when Church speaks. His eyes are like pale green fire, burning with intensity, and they study Church for a second before Leonard steps away from the bars.

“Stay calm. Don’t let your nerves get the best of you.”

“The best of me?” Church’s voice rises. Carolina, who stopped pacing when they started talking, takes a step towards him with a frown. “I think I’m freaking out the right amount! Look at us!”

“We have to be careful,” Leonard says. Church opens his mouth to snap at him again when he realizes Leonard’s tone is different. He only clocks it as a stiff, awkward attempt as reassurance when Leonard looks around at everyone and adds, “We must keep our wits if we’re to make it through this. As Malcolm said, we’ve been charged with excessive and reckless mortal fraternization, although I suspect there are other lesser charges as well. It’s likely that the Council are currently questioning witnesses such as Vanessa and Emily, trying to gather as much information as they can before they bring us in to hear our defense–”

“A defense,” Grif says. The words come out as a hiss. Next to him, Simmons shakes himself briefly out of his panic and looks down at him. “Yeah, they don’t care about that. I didn’t know who Locus was when I helped him, and they still gave me ten years.”

Church looks back at Leonard just in time to watch a grimace flit across his face. “Yes. I remember your trial. Let me speak on our behalf and–”

“W-where’s our lawyer?” Simmons asks. “Shouldn’t they be here before we go to, uh, to court?”

Church snorts. Simmons’ nativité would be funny if Church wasn’t five seconds away from hyperventilating himself. “A lawyer? Yeah, that’s mortal stuff.”

Leonard says, “There are certain exceptions, but for the most part the Council deals with especially major magical crimes themselves.” He pauses. “Also, most witch lawyers would simply advise a plea deal and how best to grovel.”

“We’re not doing that,” Simmons says through gritted teeth. “We didn’t do anything wrong.”

“The Council unfortunately disagrees.”

Simmons glares. “The Council–”

“Will not take kindly to people arguing with them. Particularly a mortal.”

“But we have to argue with them,” Carolina says. Her jaw is set as well. “Teaching magic to Simmons shouldn’t break any rules.”

Leonard looks between her and Simmons. “Look–” He stops. “Let me handle this.”

Simmons flushes, red splotches in his cheeks. “I just think–”

“Okay,” Church says. He only realizes he’s the one who spoke when everyone, including Carolina, looks at him. He was already hot, but now he’s hotter, warmth creeping into his cheeks and burning his ears at the startled look in Leonard’s eyes. He clears his throat. “What?”

“Didn’t realize you were your dad’s biggest fan,” Grif drawls. With the sarcasm dripping off his words, he sounds almost normal.

Church opens his mouth. Closes it. Carolina is studying him intently, looking even more surprised than their dad, but there’s a hint of amusement too, a flicker of it that tugs one corner of her mouth briefly upwards. The amusement reminds him of Tex, looking exasperated and amused when he visited her all those months ago.

It reminds him too, of the question he asked her. Why was Leonard risking everything by helping Simmons learn magic? He remembers her answer, and even if he’d envied her surety then, it’s still surprising to feel it himself.

The words come out slowly. “Leonard might be a stick in the mud, but family comes first. Besides, he knows Council crap and loopholes better than the rest of us. Let’s, uh. Trust him.”

Leonard still looks slightly surprised and Grif and Simmons look doubtful, but the small smile broadens on Carolina’s face. She still looks furious, but her shoulders loosen a little as she walks over and drops down next to Church on the bed. She leans her shoulder against his before she looks up at their dad.

“Okay, Dad. We’re listening. What else do we need to do?”

Sweet Disaster’s phone rings out front, a loud, insistent ring that cuts through even the noise of the electric mixer Nick is currently wrestling into submission. Sam doesn’t look up from spreading frosting over the latest batch of cinnamon rolls. It’ll be someone calling in an order or asking their hours, and thankfully Walt handles calls.

A second later Walt’s voice rises over the mixer, bright and cheerful and customer polished. “Hello, thank you for calling Sweet Disaster! How may I help you?”

Then there’s silence. A long silence, without any cheerful interjections or listening sounds.

It goes on long enough that Nick frowns over at Sam. Today he’s wearing an apron that says A Diet Can’t Bring You Joy Like an Apple Pie Can, which is already liberally covered in flour. “Should one of us go out there?”

Before Sam can respond, Walt comes into the kitchen. There’s a furrow in his forehead and his customary grin is gone.

“Sam? Do you know a guy named Frank? He’s on the phone for you. He seems, um. Upset.”

“I do,” Sam says slowly. He knows two, actually, but he doesn’t know why either of them would be calling. He runs through worse-case scenarios with an instinct he hasn’t quite shaken even after months of living as a mortal. Something has happened to the other Frank. Something has happened to Simmons.

“I can, uh, transfer it to the back office,” Walt offers. “If you need privacy.”

“Thank you,” Sam says.

When he picks up the phone in the office, it’s Franklin’s anxious voice he hears, talking so quickly the words almost run together.

“Sam, are you there? Sam, I think you need to get out of there. The mob already got Simmons, they walked into the teacher’s lounge and grabbed him, they might be coming for you next. Do you have a place to hide? You can stay at our place, we can meet you there–”

“Frank,” Sam says, firmly enough that Franklin stops and takes a deep breath. Franklin’s alarm is infectious, but there’s a good dose of confusion as well. “I don’t understand. What happened to Simmons? Why would anyone be coming for me?”

“It’s not time to play coy, Sam,” Franklin says. A tinge of exasperation sneaks in among the alarm.

“No offense, but you and Simmons aren’t the best at subterfuge,” Frank adds. His voice is slightly muffled, like he’s speaking from behind Franklin. “We figured out the truth pretty quickly! Well, part of the truth anyway. We figured out about the witness protection, that Simmons is a witness for something and you were the guy who was supposed to kill him and then, well, didn’t.”

“It’s so romantic,” Franklin says with a sigh.

“But call your marshal! Tell them Simmons has been taken and that you’re in danger!”

“What?” Sam says, baffled.

“Call your marshal!”

“I don’t–” Sam stops. He tries to piece together what they’re saying, but he’s still learning things about mortals. It feels as though Franklin and Frank are speaking a second language. “What?”

“Sam!” Frank says. “Simmons is in trouble!”

That at least is simple enough, even if it makes Sam’s shoulders tense.

“This guy came in a suit, obviously a mobster, and grabbed him,” Franklin adds.

“Grabbed him,” Sam repeats slowly. He gets a sinking feeling in his stomach. He doesn’t know what Frank and Franklin are talking about regarding marshals and witness protection, but he does know who would be likely to grab Simmons in public. “...And Simmons didn’t fight?”

“No, he– I guess Simmons recognized him? And knew he was packing heat or something, because he didn’t even argue, just said he wouldn’t be any trouble.”

“I see,” Sam says. Grif and Simmons have told him about the Council lackey who drops in every so often. He wonders how angry the lackey is, discovering that Simmons has been doing magic under his nose. The Council won’t deal kindly with him for his oversight.

“Sam? Sam, what are you going to do?”

Sam starts to answer before he realizes that he doesn’t have any answer. What can he do against the Council? He’s mortal now. He is suddenly, absurdly grateful for the phone and for the privacy Walt gave him. He can’t imagine what his expression looks like right now. He scrubs a hand down his face and tries to think.

“Sam,” Frank says, his voice rising. “Are you okay? Are– is someone with you? Do you–”

“I’m all right,” Sam says before Frank or Franklin can panic further. When Frank makes a soft, distressed noise into the phone, Sam rubs at his face again and adds, “Just trying to think.”

“Call your marshal!” Franklin says. “Call the police!”

“I will,” Sam lies. “I will talk to you when I can.”

“If you can’t, if you have to get sent somewhere else, we’ll miss you,” Frank says. There’s the threat of tears in his voice.

Sam feels the concerned affection like an unexpected hand around his throat. His breath catches in his chest. It’s been strange, having friends. Especially friends who are as different from Felix as night and day. And friends who don’t know and cannot know the exact trouble Simmons is in.

He tries to keep the emotion from his voice. “I hope that doesn’t happen. Act like you didn’t see anything. It’s safer that way.”

“Right,” Franklin says shakily. “Whiskers would be furious if we had to uproot ourselves and end up in the Witness Protection Program too.” There’s another pause before he and Frank say together, “Be careful, okay?”

“I will,” Sam says.

When he hangs up, he stares at the wall. His chest is still tight. He doesn’t miss his magic, but he hates this feeling of helplessness. “There’s nothing I can do. They’re already in trouble. If I go to their apartment I would just make things worse. Control–”

Just saying the alias feels dangerous, even if he’s certain Malcolm Hargrove is in the Other Realm, either personally involved with Simmons or turning the situation to his advantage. He’s very good at that.

Sam looks around instinctively, but he has no magic. He hasn’t summoned Hargrove to invade this space like Hargrove invaded his apartment only a few days after he’d begun his mortal life.

Hargrove glances around the apartment with its pre-furnished furniture. “How quaint,” he says with that crisp politeness Locus has always felt had a sharp undercurrent to it.

Now that undercurrent feels like one of Felix’s old knives at his throat. Locus stays very still. His heart is pounding in his chest. He has no magic. Hargrove could stop his heart in his chest and leave and no one, witch or mortal, would be the wiser.

“Mortality.” Hargrove rolls the word around in his mouth like he’s tasting it, a faint wrinkle in his forehead. His gaze returns to Locus and lingers. He looks pensive. “I find I cannot quite decide whether or not it’s a fitting punishment for your crimes. While it is a death sentence, another thirty or forty years of life seems overly generous.” A pause. “I am certain that Ruben and Gabriel would agree, were they able.”

There is a warning there, lurking beneath the British mildness.

Locus tenses at the names, watching him warily.

Hargrove smiles then. It doesn’t reach his eyes as he adds, “But of course I shall abide by the Council’s decision. I am simply here to remind you that you may enjoy what few decades remain to you, if you are sensible. Mortals are so very…fragile.”

“I would probably become a pawn. There’s nothing I can do.”

Despite their truth, the words sour in his mouth.

“There’s nothing I can do,” Sam repeats. “This won’t be a trial, and even if it was, she wouldn’t–”

Perhaps she would help Simmons. It would be a historical case, and she has always enjoyed a challenge. But she wouldn’t answer him, even if there was some way for him to reach out to her in the Other Realm.

He tenses at a knock on the door.

“Sam?” Walt sounds tentative. “Is everything okay?”

“No,” Sam says.

Walt opens the door at that. “Is there anything Nick and I can do?”

“I need to go home,” Sam says. He’s half-startled by his own words. He can’t go down to Simmons and Grif’s apartment without causing more trouble and it seems almost impossible that Grif hasn’t been arrested as well. Still, there’s the smallest possibility that Grif might be waiting at his apartment, needing someone to wait with him.

Walt’s expression softens. “Go. We’ll hold down the fort.”

Sam shouldn’t go to their apartment. It’s a dangerous risk and it might cause even more trouble for everyone involved. He should go back to his own apartment and wait. He knows this, and yet he still finds himself at their door, letting himself in quietly with the spare key Simmons gave him a few months ago.

The apartment is uncomfortably quiet.

Sam tucks the key back into his pocket. He sits down on the couch.

He can’t do anything now. But if Simmons comes back– When he comes back. Simmons, even if he can somehow do magic, is a mortal. The chances of them turning him into a familiar or locking him away on Pluto are remote. Most likely, they’ll reassign Grif to an actual witch guardian, then erase Simmons’ memory and dump him back in his apartment.

And when they do, Simmons will find a fellow mortal and friend waiting for him.

“DUCK YOU! DUCK YOU, AND YOUR MOM!”

Kai is so mad she could spit fire. She would too, if she thought it would do any good. Burn down the Council chamber’s door, flambé the assholes, and get Dex and Simmons out of there. They could hide out in the mortal realm for a couple decades. She’s got friends who know some good sneaky spells.

She takes a deep breath, ready to yell at the soundproof doors, when the hot librarian chick touches her arm. She’d introduced herself as Vanessa, said something about how she knew Simmons and Grif, but Kai hadn’t really been listening.

“I know the feeling, but this won’t help,” Vanessa says.

The other woman, a hot doctor still in her scrubs, giggles, though it sounds slightly forced. “In fact, it might simply mean the Council turns you into a familiar too for insulting them.”

Kai snarls. “Dex is in there, in trouble, for cow schist reasons!”

Vanessa’s eyes flick around, like she’s worried the Council or some of their henchmen are listening in. They are. They might not monitor every single witch home like Kai thought, considering it took them this long to figure out about Simmons, but they’re totally going to spy on people in their waiting room.

Kai doesn’t care. She’d wanted to kill the stooge who grabbed her brother by the back of his neck. It was only Dex’s pleading look that had stopped her from blowing the guy to smithereens.

“That may be,” Vanessa says carefully, “but getting in trouble won’t help him.”

“I don’t ducking– I can’t just stand here!”

The other woman, Emily, studies Kai for a long moment. She’s got the sexy doctor look down. Any other day Kai would’ve winked at her and asked if she liked what she saw, but today she’s choking on her rage. It’s all she can do not to fling a few spells at them both to shut them up so she can figure out how she’s breaking Dex and Simmons out and going on the run.

Maybe that shows on her face, because Emily giggles again. “Oh, sweetheart, I wouldn’t try it. I’ve been casting spells longer than you’ve been alive.”

Kai snarls again.

When the doors to the Council chambers open and one of the minions saunters out, Kai’s hands swing towards each other without thought, her mind fixated on the thought of sending the guy flying.

Her palms never meet. Both Emily and Vanessa grab onto her arms, holding her in place.

The stooge raises an eyebrow. Then he brushes a fleck of dust off the edge of his sleeve and clears his throat. His voice is still slimy as he entones, “The trial is beginning in five minutes. You–”

They may have her arms pinned, but Kai’s mouth still works fine. “Where do we sit?”

The henchman lifts his eyebrow again. Kai wants to rip it off his face. He sounds almost pitying when he says, “The Council in their infinite wisdom have decided that it will be a closed trial. No family or friends allowed. You–”

Vanessa’s hand clamps over Kai’s mouth as she starts to respond.

“--three are welcome to wait here until the sentences have been passed.”

Watching the stooge step back and close the doors behind him gives Kai another burst of rage. She tears herself free from the other two women, turning and trying to burn them alive with the power of her mind.

“What the duck was that?! I have to be in there! I need– Dex— Screw you two, you might be scared of the Council, but I’m not! If that ducking stooge tries to stop me, he’s getting a one-way ticket to Pluto. Wait here until the ducking sentence? So we're just gonna sit here while Dex and Simmons get ducked over? Donkey schist! They can’t keep us out here!”

She stalks towards the doors.

Emily gets there first.

Kai has almost two feet and at least a hundred pounds on her, but Emily crosses her arms against her chest and looks up at her like she’s willing to physically wrestle Kai away from the door. Her expression is flat, her voice even when she says, “Listen to me. If you try to break down the doors, all you’ll do is make the Council even more likely to go for the worst punishments. This is their seat of power. You can’t fight them and win. The best thing you can do is sit down and wait.”

Her features change then, a flicker of a smile so faint that Kai almost thinks she’s imagining things until Emily adds, “And hope that dear Leonard knows some sort of loophole to get everyone minimum sentences.”

“I–”

“We want to be in there too,” Vanessa says. “Those kids–” Her jaw tightens. She doesn’t finish the sentence.

Kai’s so angry even her eyes feel hot. She draws in a breath, and then another, but it doesn’t help. Her brother and the guy her brother would be dating if there wasn’t the whole familiar thing going on are in that room and everything’s about to be so screwed.

There’s no way Simmons is walking out with his memories, just like there’s no way Dex isn’t getting reassigned to another guardian. Her big brother is about to have his heart broken, unless the Council gets really nasty and erases everyone’s memories of Simmons just to hide the conspiracy. Then he won’t even know what he’s missing.

She feels so powerless. Did he feel like this during his first trial, all alone as Kai was partying a million miles and universe away?

“I want to be with Dex,” she says. It comes out shaky.

“Yeah,” Vanessa sighs. She pats Kai’s shoulders. “C’mon. Let’s sit.”

Kai shakes her head. When wariness creeps back into Emily and Vanessa’s expressions, she feels herself grimace, but she can't just sit there. She takes a step back, away from Emily and the double doors. Restless fury hums in her veins. She still wants to spit fire or drop the Council into a volcano or grab Dex and Simmons and run away to Alaska.

Instead she paces.

Chapter Text

The smugness radiating off Malcolm is almost palpable.

Leonard attempts to bolster himself with the fact that Allison very recently thrashed him with a well-aimed fist. It doesn’t help as much as he hoped, not when Church is slouched next to him trying to disappear into the hood of his shirt, Carolina has a glint in her eyes that is much like her mother resisting the urge to fight, and even Richard is radiating an energy that makes him alarmed for whatever comes out of the man’s mouth.

The Council stares down at them from their seats. Leonard can’t decide whether it is a good sign or not that they don’t look particularly angry, more bemused than anything else.

His attention returns to Malcolm as the other man steps forward.

“We naturally all know why you are here. The fact that a mortal stands before the esteemed Council is proof enough of the severity of the charges. But as is tradition, let me read out the charges for which you are accused.”

Richard’s eyes narrow as Malcolm speaks. He opens his mouth, then shuts it with a swift glance towards as Dexter paws at his ankle and lets out a quiet warning hiss. Leonard has not spent any time with the man besides when Dexter was sitting bed-side beside Church, but at least he understands the risks of speaking out of turn.

“Leonard Church. James Church. Carolina Church. Dexter Grif. You are all hereby charged with Excessive and Reckless Mortal Fraternization as well as violation of the Charitable Purposes Law.”

“And keeping secrets from the Council,” Drell says. He slams his fist onto the table with a suddenness that makes Richard and Church jump and Dexter’s tail flick. “WHICH ISN’T A LAW BUT SHOULD BE.”

Skippy doesn’t flinch at Drell’s outburst, too accustomed to them by now, but Leonard catches the beginning of a scowl on his face as he looks curiously towards Richard. There have been rumors that he has a soft spot for mortals, but unfortunately those rumors always had the addendum that the soft spot never prevented him from going along with Cassandra and Drell’s decisions.

Cassandra has her chin propped in her hand and is studying everyone. She, more than the other two Council members, looks slightly puzzled, a small crease in her forehead and a purse to her lips as she also studies Richard.

“How do you plead?” Malcolm asks.

Leonard keeps his expression polite and attentive. “We have the right to hear the evidence against us first.”

“We do?” Richard whispers, blinking. When Leonard glances at him, he winces. “Uh. Good.”

Malcolm’s smugness intensifies. “Then by all means, you shall hear it.” He pauses, as Leonard knew he would, and offers Carolina and Church an elaborate bow. “As young witches, you are likely unaware that I serve as the subhead of the Council and provide oversight to many branches of the Other Realm government. It so happened that I was conducting a routine follow up investigation after the horrific tragedy narrowly avoided in Massachusetts.”

“The what?” Drell says blankly.

Malcolm pauses again, this time to cough into his hand and murmur, “The, ah, incident with Felix and Locus, sir.” Drell’s expression goes thunderous even as Malcolm continues, his words confirming some of Leonard’s worst fears.

“Imagine my surprise when my routine investigation turned up incongruities around Dexter Grif’s home! I had uncovered a sealed ward against surveillance in a flat with only a familiar and a mortal living within.”

Cassandra lifts her head from her hand at that. “A familiar and a mortal? Where was Dexter Grif’s guardian?”

Leonard has a brief satisfaction at seeing Malcolm briefly stymied. Malcolm is too well-practiced at politics to let more of a flicker of frustration go across his face before he turns towards the Council and offers them a practiced smile. “It was an experiment, ma’am, one that would have reached your ears once there were results, as there are now.”

Skippy scowls down at him.

Malcolm answers the silent question. “The theory was that the punishment of living with a mortal would provide an extra deterrent against breaking Council law. Unfortunately it seems that instead the experiment was used to circumvent the law–”

Drell slams his fist again. “So you’re telling me that somebody stuck a familiar with a mortal? That is one the stupidest things I’ve heard in decades! Bring us the idiot who decided to break centuries of tradition and make a witch play at being a kitty-cat for a mortal!”

“Sir, with all due respect, I think we should focus on what I learned about this ward. The matter of Dexter Grif can wait—”

This time Drell’s fist slams into the table so hard that a gust of wind ruffles everyone’s hair. “BRING OUT THE IDIOT!”

Again there’s a satisfying flicker of annoyance from Malcolm before he nods. “Of course, sir.”

Leonard doesn’t allow himself to be cheered by this setback of Malcolm’s. Even if the Council’s ire is currently being directed towards someone else, he dislikes the direction. It doesn’t bode well for Dexter or Richard, not when it’s obvious that even Skippy dislikes the notion of a familiar living with a mortal.

A moment later, a new man enters the Council chambers. Leonard doesn’t recognize him, but Dexter and Richard clearly do, from the way Dexter mutters under his breath, “Great, the stooge,” and Richard’s colorless face turns a splotchy red.

This man looks nervous, his gaze darting from Malcolm to the Council. “Y-you asked for me?”

“Apparently you came up with the brilliant idea of placing a familiar in a mortal’s home,” Cassandra says. No one could miss the sarcasm in her voice, and the man visibly wilts and goes pale.

“Uh, well–”

“Spit it out, Scrooge,” Drell snarls.

“The stooge’s name is Scrooge?” Richard says, his voice high and incredulous.

Scrooge shoots him a nasty look, but Richard just stares back, eyebrows almost disappearing past his hairline. Then Scrooge looks back to the Council and licks his lips. “It’s, um, pronounced Scroge, sir, sort of like crow, but uh— it seemed like he would suffer more staying in a mortal’s house, feigning being a cat, than–”

“The traditional punishment?” Cassandra says. The sarcasm is replaced by ice.

Drell rolls his eyes. “Are you the same guy who came up with the shark familiar crap?”

Scrooge winces. “No, sir, you reassigned her to the Republic of Infinite Horror for a century.”

“The Republic of Infinite Horror?” Carolina whispers to Leonard.

He can only give a small shrug in response. The Republic of Infinite Horror would take too long to explain at the moment and also frankly would infuriate Carolina. He doesn’t need her any angrier than she understandably already is. He also doesn’t know anything about this shark situation, but apparently the people safeguarding familiars have been taking many liberties. It’s not a comforting thought.

“Councilors, in my defense, Dexter Grif lied to my face about this man being an ignorant mortal!” Scrooge says, jabbing a finger towards Richard and Dexter. “The experiment was faulty from the start because of his deception! If anything, it’s proved that he should have his sentence extended–”

Richard makes a small, aborted movement, and only stills when Dexter’s paws wrap around his ankle.

His teeth are gritted, but before he can speak, Drell hisses at Scrooge, “Perhaps we should have our own experiment. See if making you Dexter Grif’s guardian means you’ll actually know what’s going on with him.”

“What? No!” Dexter protests, still clinging to Richard’s ankle. “Haven’t you guys heard of cruel and unusual punishment?!”

Scrooge also blanches. “But– it wasn’t my fault! How was I supposed to know what they were up to?”

“BY DOING YOUR JOB!”

Malcolm clears his throat. “It is not entirely Scrooge’s fault, sir. Dexter did deceive him, and I will remind you that someone had warded the flat against detection. A sealed ward, no less. If Scrooge was monitoring from the Other Realm, he would have seen nothing amiss, thanks to Doctor Church.”

A triumphant note creeps into his voice as the Council momentarily forgets Scrooge and stares at Leonard.

Leonard keeps his expression calm as Church tenses beside him. He’s prepared for this. Well, not this situation precisely. He had realized that he and Richard would be at risk, but he hadn’t considered the depths of Malcolm’s petty desire to see him ruined over a centuries old scientific disagreement.

“Esteemed Council,” he says, offering them all a bow. “The chairman has laid the facts out to you as he perceived them. I freely admit that I warded Richard Simmons’ apartment, but it was not to hide him from you. I would have presented him to you once my research was complete.”

When Cassandra leans forward and gestures for him to go on, looking curious, he does.

“I reasoned that there were two possibilities. Either he was a delusional or amnesiac witch, in which case I wouldn’t waste your valuable time with the farce, or he was a fluke of nature. I wanted to know exactly what was happening before I presented my findings to the Council.”

Drell snorts, but before he can say anything, Malcolm speaks first.

“And how were your children involved in your little experiment?”

Drell scowls. There’s a flash of magic and he holds up an enormous gold watch, which ticks loudly and obnoxiously before it disappears again. “You all are wasting our time. Get to the point! What experiment has Malcolm tearing out his hair?”

“Metaphorically speaking,” Cassandra says as Malcolm’s expression shifts from irritation at the joke about his baldness to anticipation. He watches Leonard with an almost imperceptible smile.

Leonard takes a breath. Everyone’s eyes are on him. He isn’t entirely certain why Malcolm didn’t tell the Council precisely why they were here, but he supposes it’s time to be as matter-of-fact as possible. “I discovered that Richard Simmons, under certain conditions and with access to effluvium, can cast spells.”

There’s a long silence. Then the Council bursts out laughing.

Drell laughs so hard that tears spring into his eyes. “A mortal, doing magic? Leonard, you should still have a millennia before your mind starts going!” He’s oblivious to the way Malcolm’s eyes narrow at the unintended slight.

Leonard studies the laughing Council. He can use this amusement, he thinks. “Your understandable reactions are precisely why I wanted to conduct research first. If he could do magic, it would be unprecedented. And I didn’t want it to reach the wider witch community before I brought my findings to you.”

“Yet your children are involved,” Malcolm interjects. For the first time since they had entered the Council chambers, there’s a bite to his words. When Leonard looks at him, he sees frustration plain on Malcolm’s face, one hand curled into a fist at his side.

“I, uh, teach at their school,” Richard says quickly. He looks slightly annoyed by the laughter. “They figured it out themselves.” When the entire Council looks at him like he’s a dog that’s learned how to speak, most of them smiling as though he’s an amusing party trick, he flushes a splotchy, furious red and stares back with a rising challenge in his eyes.

Leonard draws a breath. He needs to speak up before Richard can antagonize the Council.

The breath catches in his throat when Malcolm meets his eyes and smiles.

It’s a self-satisfied smile, and Leonard feels an uneasy prickle go down his spine a second before Malcolm says mildly, the smugness not quite leaking into his voice, “Interesting witches, Leonard, your children. When I began my research into Richard Simmons, I examined our lists of those who told mortals they were witches to see how he even learned of magic. There was no record. I believe that a familiar telling a mortal about magic isn't something that's happened before, so the spell didn't pick up on it.”

All three Council members straighten up at that. Cassandra’s eyes narrow speculatively. “What an intriguing loophole,” she murmurs in a tone that’s hard to read.

“ONE THAT SHOULD BE CLOSED IMMEDIATELY!” Drell roars.

Malcolm twists his lips briefly, so quickly that Leonard wouldn’t have noticed if he wasn’t watching, before he turns an earnest look upon the Council. “Of course. We are already crafting the updated spell, sir. So while I can only assume Dexter Grif told the mortal, I did also stumble upon something interesting. The young Church children told five mortals they were witches in the same evening.”

Drell starts sputtering, red-faced, as Skippy blinks. He holds up his hand.

“Yes, indeed. Five in a single night!”

Cassandra purses her lips in disapproval. She studies Carolina and Church. Carolina looks slightly defiant, while Church slouches and offers up a sickly smile. “And how many of them have been turned to stone?”

“None,” Leonard interjects. “Carolina and Church chose their friends wisely. All of them have kept the secret for months now.”

Malcolm spreads his hands, still the picture of earnest concern that Leonard knows to be a lie. “Perhaps, but it’s only a matter of time before one of them slips up. I don’t have to tell you, Councilors, the risks involved. With every additional mortal they tell, the greater the danger to themselves and to the Other Realm. It begs the question on whether or not they are responsible enough to keep their licenses or if—”

“What?” Church squawks at the same time Carolina snaps, “You can’t do that!”

“Or if they perhaps need a few more years of education under the guidance of a different set of guardians and quizmaster,” Malcolm continues, ignoring them. “It would be regrettable, of course, but their safety and the safety of the Other Realm must come first.”

Carolina looks up at Leonard. The outrage in her face gives way, temporarily, to uncertainty. “Can he do that?”

Leonard doesn’t let the dread creep into his face, even if he feels it with every fiber of his being. So this is Malcolm’s plan. It’s not enough to charge Leonard and likely wipe Richard’s memories of his magic use. Malcolm is trying to hurt his family as much as he possibly can. And at the moment, Leonard can’t see any way out of this trap Malcolm has set.

“I am… I’m afraid so. The Subhead committee handles both familiars as well as witch education. Unless the Council overrides him, he is fully authorized to make such a decision.”

“Does that–” Carolina stops. Her jaw works. “What would that mean?”

Malcolm interrupts them with mock sympathy. “Miss Church, it would mean that you and your half-brother would go to live with a new guardian for an additional two years. I think perhaps one in the Other Realm would be best.”

Church is staring at Malcolm. He doesn’t look afraid anymore. He looks angry. “You’re gonna take her mom away from her. Again.”

“Unfortunately–”

“No,” Carolina says. If Church is angry, she is furious. Her eyes blaze like green flame. Louder, she says, “No! I didn’t break your stupid rules. My friends didn’t tell anyone! And I— I just got my mom back!”

Malcolm smiles pityingly. “Stupid rules? It’s clear that your impressionable mind has not been shaped as it should be. Do you even see anything wrong with what your father has been doing!”

“I don’t,” Carolina says hotly. “If mortals can do magic too, let them.”

The Council scowls.

Drell leans over the desk, glaring. “I don’t think you know what you’re talking about.”

“Of course I do!” Carolina says. “My mom’s mortal, remember? Which is why I didn’t get to see her for two years! And why I told my friends the truth, because I needed someone to confide in about all the weird magic stuff since you wouldn’t let me talk to my mom! And made me live with strangers! How are any kids like me supposed to enjoy being a witch when you make the first two years horrible?”

Skippy gives the smallest shrug of acknowledgement, but Drell and Cassandra look alternatively irate and stern.

Malcolm sighs. “My point has been proven. If you had responsible adults around you, perhaps you and your half-brother would not be standing before the Council charged with Excessive and Reckless Fraternization with Mortals and violating the Charitable Purposes Law.”

“How did they manage that violation?” Cassandra asks. “Helped their friends with homework?”

“No, ma’am,” Malcolm says. “They clearly assisted Richard Simmons over the last few months with these experiments with magic.”

Drell snorts. “Deluding a mortal into thinking he’s doing magic isn’t charitable, Malcolm. It’s just a trick most young witches play in their first century before they get it out of their system.”

“I’m not delusional!” Richard protests, his voice cracking.

Leonard latches onto Richard’s argument. He clears his throat. “Councilors, I assure you there is no trick here. And further, I would argue that you waive the charge of violating Charitable Purposes Law for myself and my children.”

“Oh?” Malcolm says, eyes narrowing.

“I was doing my best to perform an act of service on behalf of the entire witch community. Surely if a mortal can do magic, we need to study the phenomena and understand what it means for the future.”

Carolina steps forward, Church instinctively shadowing her, looking anxious but determined as he stares up at the Council. Leonard’s chest clenches. She looks so much like her mother when she’s righteously angry.

She glares. “If mortals can do magic too, then there’s no difference between anyone and all your rules are stupid.”

Leonard doesn’t wince, though it is a close call. He’s simultaneously filled with pride and dread. Pride that Carolina understands what Richard being able to use magic proves, and dread that she has said it so bluntly. He had hoped to offer the idea that the laws regarding mortals should be revisited, but not while they were on trial.

The Council stares down at her, stone-faced.

“That’s twice you’ve called our laws stupid,” Cassandra says icily.

Leonard steps forward, putting his hand on Carolina’s arm. “She is emotional, Councilor. She’s just been told that she might be separated from her family for another two years. Four years is not so long for us, but–” His throat tightens. For a second he can’t speak. He thinks of Allison and the new silver strands in her hair. “It’s a significant amount of time for mortals.”

“Again, unfortunate,” Malcolm says, back to fake sympathy. “But the point stands that you hid this mortal from the Council, assisted him with these magic experiments, and–”

Richard’s voice cut through Malcolm’s latest speech. “You know what? You've talked around these experiments a lot, but you haven't described them.”

Malcolm sneers faintly. “That hardly matters.”

“No,” Richard says quietly. The word still carries. His face is pale but resolute in a way Leonard hasn’t seen from him before. He looks up at the three witches above them. “I think the Council needs a demonstration.” He doesn’t flinch even when the Council laughs again.

“Oh, please,” Drell says, leaning back in his chair. “This is getting boring. Go ahead with your little parlor trick. Show us your magic.” He wiggles his fingers with a snort on the last word.

Skippy nods in agreement, eyeing Richard with curiosity, while Malcolm looks irritated again.

“I don't know if it's necessary to humiliate the mortal….”

Cassandra waves a hand. “Drell, Skippy, and I wish to see this demonstration.” Her voice drips almost honey-sweet with condescension. “Let’s see what the mortal has been fooled into thinking magic is, and then we can show him the truth before we decide the sentence and punishment for this fraternization.”

Richard swallows. His hand goes to his throat. For a second Leonard thinks it’s him struggling with nerves before he draws out a gaudy quartz necklace from under his shirt. “I have a spell I've been working on, if you'd like to see my efforts.”

Drell rolls his eyes. “Get on with it. Do your spell.”

Leonard keeps his eyes on Richard. What spell does he intend to cast? If he had time to offer advice, Leonard would have suggested the apples to oranges spell. A simple yet inarguable bit of easily repeated magic, with the strong symbolic undercurrent of a young witch beginning their training. But he remembers Richard’s impatience with even the fruit tree spells. And besides, it’s clear that Richard’s spell will involve that quartz somehow.

Quartz is an excellent conductor of magic and Richard has always been frustrated by his limitations. Perhaps he has been experimenting with ways to use natural magic or infuse the quartz with effluvium instead of relying on leylines and witches’ spells.

It truly sinks in that Richard is about to cast magic. In front of the Council.

Leonard clears his throat. “Before he does, Councilors, may I remind you that my and my children’s magical signatures are on file? The records of what happens in this room will prove that none of us assisted him.”

“Uh huh,” Drell says dismissively, though Cassandra nods towards Leonard, clearly humoring him.

Malcolm narrows his eyes before he glances towards Richard. Leonard sees the second that he decides Leonard has desperately offered Richard up as a scapegoat because he smirks faintly. “Very well.”

“Right,” Richard says. His voice shakes, though his resolute expression doesn’t falter. One hand keeps holding onto the necklace while the other hand fumbles with his satchel. “Uh, I need– Grif?”

Dexter has been crouched at his feet since the threat of extending his sentence, making himself as low to the ground and small as possible, while simultaneously doubling his size with his fur standing on end. His eyes are slits, his ears plastered to his head, though the ears flick a little at his name.

His voice comes out as a strangled growl. “Yeah?”

Richard looks down at Dexter.

His expression changes then, and Leonard feels another prickle of unease. He knows that look, the protective tenderness softening Richard’s features. It is similar to the look Dexter gave Leonard all those months ago when he interrupted them as cats. It is, he knows, because he has seen this look on his own face in the mirror: the expression of a man about to do something either very foolish or very brave for someone he loves.

Richard kneels and picks Dexter up in a practiced gesture. Dexter makes a resigned noise even as Leonard catches the subtle flex of his paws as he kneads Richard’s sweater for a few seconds before he stops.

“Just, uh, forget about the Council.”

Dexter snorts. “Yeah, I’ll do that,” he mutters sarcastically, though Leonard knows enough to catch the trace of fondness under the sarcasm and fear.

Richard grimaces. “Right. That was. Stupid. Uh.” He smooths a hand over Dexter’s bristling fur, a gesture that makes Skippy raise his eyebrows, Cassandra look intrigued, and Drell roll his eyes. Richard doesn't notice their reactions, looking down at Dexter. “Just– focus on me, okay?”

Dexter looks up. His eyes are still slits, his fur still bristling, but his ears prick up just a little. He licks the tip of his nose, watching Richard. “...Okay.”

Richard gives him a scratch behind the ears before he takes a few steps forward and sets Dexter down on the floor. Dexter crouches there, his tail slowly thrashing, his eyes fixed on Richard, who reaches into his satchel and pulls out a small box.

Inside is a piece of chalk that glimmers orange and red. Leonard stares at it with misgiving. What spell could possibly involve Dexter and runes? He thinks of all the books that Richard has borrowed from him since Thanksgiving – tomes on the foundations of magic, on crafting spells, on curses – all texts that he gave in the understanding of Richard’s desire to learn as much about magic as possible.

He is beginning to think he’s miscalculated the depths of Richard’s desire for knowledge and perhaps one of his driving motivations to learn magic.

Richard crafts a ritual circle like a man who has practiced this so many times that he can do it in his sleep. His face is colorless, but his entire body radiates purpose and focus as he draws the intricate runes around a motionless Dexter.

Leonard startles when a warm hand slides into his. He looks at Carolina, who’s watching with anxious anticipation, her other hand clutching Church’s, who looks baffled. In Carolina’s face there’s no doubt that whatever spell Richard is about to do will work.

After a second, Leonard squeezes her hand.

When Richard finishes, he sits back on his heels. He takes a deep breath as he pulls the quartz pendant out from under his shirt again. It dangles in the air between him and Dexter for a moment.

Then he looks at Dexter and smiles.

There’s terror in the smile, but also a strange play of excitement and calm fighting for dominance. It is the expression of someone who knows what he’s doing is foolhardy, but who is convinced beyond all doubt that he will succeed. Richard’s expression holds no possibility for failure.

Richard holds out the quartz.

The chain is wrapped tightly around his hand, but there's enough give that the quartz swings in front of Dexter's face. The familiar’s whiskers flick forward in interest, while his confused, unblinking stare stays focused on Richard.

Richard takes one more breath, breathing in deep, his eyes half-closing as though he’s tasting the air. Then his voice, free of tremors if not strain, begins to recite an incantation.

“While you are trapped in a catskin shell,
twisted and pressed into a cursed shape,
I stand here armed with quartz and my spell.

Your punishment we both know well.
One you cannot hope to escape
while you are trapped in a catskin shell.”

Leonard hears Drell laugh, but he doesn’t look away from Richard and that slowly swinging quartz. The words have the cadence of an incantation but the rhythmic quality of a poem. He has read theories on incorporating other forms of poetry besides the traditional rhyming couplet into the repetition of a ritual, but has never used them himself.

Clearly Richard has crafted the spell with care, each word and phrase chosen meticulously. Leonard simply doesn’t know what Richard intends.

He spies the second that the spell begins to work, white leeching from the quartz and replaced by a familiar maroon tint swirling within the rock. The focused look on Richard’s face flickers to brief giddy triumph before he licks his lips and continues.

“For the bond we share I do compel
your form to once again reshape,
while armed with quartz and my spell.”

“No way,” Church whispers beside him, shocked.

Leonard darts a quick glance at him and sees Church’s eyes are wide, his mouth slack.

He almost asks what Church thinks Richard is doing, when the next stanza catches his attention.

“Ten full years you were meant to dwell
far from home, to crawl and scrape
while trapped in this catskin shell.”

Richard’s grip tightens on the chain wrapped around his hand, a gesture that makes the quartz swing a little more forcefully. It almost taps Dexter’s nose, but Dexter doesn’t even blink, watching Richard with a look Leonard can’t interpret.

There’s a challenging note in Richard’s voice. His shoulders are tense, and Leonard gets the impression that if he could, he would look away from Dexter and glare up at the Council, who are staring at him.

Drell scowls at the obvious challenge to the Council. Skippy is squinting around the room. Cassandra looks uneasy. Everyone can feel something in the room shift, a pressure that signals powerful magic beginning to bear down on them all.

The chain around Richard’s hand begins to smoke, but Richard doesn’t flinch.

“But all magic can be broken, stories tell.
So let me free you from this cursed shape,
armed with quartz and my spell.”

Carolina’s hand squeezes Leonard’s hand so tightly that pain twinges up his arm, but he barely notices, too busy reeling with shock. Her expression is one of wonder, clearly not aware of the impossibility of what Richard is attempting.

Richard is truly trying to break a Council spell. The familiar spell. A spell that no one in the history of witchdom has ever been able to break. A curse surely sealed with all the authority that these three witches can muster, who are now watching Simmons with unfeigned shock.

Even with all the magic swirling around them and gathering force, Leonard cannot quite bring himself to believe it will work. He nevertheless finds himself hoping it will, and frantically begins making plans for the aftermath. The Council will be furious.

Richard pauses.

That earlier look returns to his face, the strange calm. He smiles down at Dexter. The final part of the incantation comes out soft and slightly hoarse, not so much a spell any longer but a vow that is filled with so much emotion that the pressure in the air seems to increase tenfold in anticipation.

“What comes next, I cannot tell,
but I will break this curse, you will escape,
no longer trapped in this catskin shell,
freed by my quartz and my spell.”

The chain blazes a brilliant maroon as the quartz, still swinging, cracks. Richard’s magic spills forth from the stone like a tidal wave, washing over Dexter and concealing him and Richard from view even as the pressure in the chambers vanishes like it’s never been.

There’s a beat of silence.

Then Church whispers, “Did it work?”

The maroon magic dissipates like fog to reveal Dexter Grif, fully a witch again, barefoot and wearing only sweatpants and a ratty T-shirt.

Richard smiles, swaying on his feet. He reaches out trembling hands, fingers clutching at the front of Dexter’s shirt. He sounds almost drunk as he says, “There you are.”

Dexter makes a low sound in his throat, agreement or amazement, and then untangles one of Richard’s hands from the fabric. It’s only now that Leonard notices the injury, dozens of tiny, agonizing-looking red welts as though the chains had been seared into Richard’s skin. A few drops of blood drip onto the remnants of the ritual circle.

Dexter cradles the hand in his. The shock in his face gives way to something else.

Richard hisses in surprise and then relief as orange magic swirls around their joined hands and the welts diminish into fine, pale scars that look as though the injury was from months ago. He looks down at his hand and then up at Dexter with a wondering smile.

Even watching, Leonard can’t tell who initiates the kiss.

Dexter and Richard kiss like men drowning, like this is the first and last time they will get the chance. Even as Richard sways closer and Dexter’s free hand curls into his tousled red hair, Leonard feels one last pulse of magic sweep through the room.

When the kiss finally ends, they don’t pull away, reluctance obvious even as they both lean back just enough to breathe.

Richard’s face is flushed scarlet. He somehow looks more shocked by the kiss than he did breaking the spell. Just as quickly as the flush floods his face, however, the red drains from it, along with all other colors except for a sickly gray as the magical backlash hits him.

“...What?” The strangled whisper comes Scrooge, half-forgotten in the corner.

The room, shocked in stillness, begins to move again.

Carolina’s hand is slack in Leonard’s. He gives it a squeeze. She blinks up at him and starts to smile.

Church breathes out a, “Holy crap,” and begins to struggle with his hooded jacket. When Carolina and Leonard look at him, puzzled, he rolls his eyes and gives them a dazed grin. “Dude’s about to fall over. He’ll need a pillow.”

“I’m not– I’m—” Richard stops. The earlier swaying becomes a decided wobble.

“Um,” Dexter says. His grin falters as Richard sinks against him, his scarred hand still clutching onto Dexter’s. “You okay?” When Richard mumbles something, he looks over Richard towards Leonard. “He’s okay, right?”

Leonard feels a moment’s unease. The intensity of the backlash, the power of the spell–

But Carolina lets go of his hand and walks forward. Even knowing the enormity of what Richard has accomplished, Leonard finds himself comforted by the confidence in her voice as she says, “He’ll be fine. Let’s get him on the ground with his feet up.”

“Right,” Dexter says. He makes a careful, ungraceful movement that ends with Richard stretched out onto the floor, his head pillowed on Dexter’s thigh, his eyes half-shut and his face gray, though a few spots of color try gamely to return to his cheeks when Dexter runs his hand through Richard’s hair.

“We need water. And something sugary,” Carolina says.

Scrooge, still staring, wordlessly summons a waterskin and a plate of cookies.

“Oatmeal?” Church says, wrinkling his nose. “Dude just did serious magic, at least give him chocolate chip.”

Leonard looks up towards the Council, whose shock is ebbing. In its wake is the beginning of fury and alarm and hurried calculation. He watches their faces for a moment, his own mind racing, trying to figure out what avenues Richard’s bold act of defiance have closed off and what avenues it has opened.

Cassandra looks simply overwhelmed, clearly reeling from the implications, but in Skippy’s face he sees the briefest moment of potential, excitement and intrigue as Skippy studies Richard and Dexter for another second.

Then Skippy glances sideways at Drell, whose face is turning a violent, dangerous purple. He straightens in his seat and begins making elaborate gestures with his mouth and eyebrows.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN? IT’S OBVIOUS WHAT WE NEED TO DO. WE–”

Another frantic movement of Skippy’s eyebrows, even more empathic.

“YOU’RE JUST BEING ROMANTIC. IT’S YOUR WORST QUALITY. THIS IS–”

Skippy waves his arm in Drell's direction.

“NOW THAT'S JUST UNCALLED FOR!”

A sharp sound rings out as Skippy smacks the table.

“BUT–”

Skippy crosses his arms and frowns.

“CASSANDRA, TELL HIM HE’S BEING RIDICULOUS!” Drell turns towards Cassandra, who is still staring at Dexter and Richard. When she doesn’t even look towards him, he growls. “FINE!” He slams his fist onto the table again.

Leonard flinches as he feels a familiar tug in his stomach. A teleportation spell? Are they being sent back to the jail cell while the Council deliberates what to do next? The last thing he sees in the room before Drell’s magic expels him from the Council chambers is Malcolm’s face, ashen with shock, hatred contorting his features as his eyes meet Leonard’s.

Then Leonard blinks.

They are not in the jail cell. Instead they are in the waiting room, Dexter still cross-legged on the floor, Richard’s head in his lap, Carolina holding the waterskin and Church clutching the cookie plate. The only other occupants are Vanessa and Emily, both leaping out of their chairs in surprise, and an unfamiliar woman who nevertheless cannot be anyone but Dexter’s family.

The woman throws herself down onto the floor, slinging her arms around Dexter. “Holy schist! I thought you were ducking toast, bro! How’d you sweet-talk them into ending your sentence?”

“I didn’t,” Dexter says, staring down at Richard. His hand is still in Richard’s hair, something his sister notices with interest. “Simmons, uh. Broke the spell.”

Despite his pallor, his eyes still shut, a smile flickers across Richard’s face.

Vanessa blinks. “He what?”

Emily’s eyes widen. She looks at Leonard. When he nods in confirmation, she giggles. “Oh my! I can’t imagine the Council is happy about that! What an exciting revelation….”

“Indeed,” Leonard says dryly.

“Simmons broke the spell,” Dexter’s sister repeats slowly.

Leonard begins to cast a diagnostic incantation. He intends to confirm his suspicions, but the spark of blue magic sputters out as Dexter’s sister shifts, leaning over Dexter to stare down at Richard and block both of the men from view. There’s a loud smacking noise as she kisses Richard on the forehead and says, her voice slightly wobbly, “Way to ducking go.”

Church snickers as Richard opens his eyes and makes a decent attempt at blushing again. “Two kisses in one day? Probably a record for– ow!” He rubs at his arm and scowls at Carolina, who just raises an eyebrow.

As delighted understanding brightens Dexter’s sister’s face, Leonard attempts the spell again.

This time he succeeds, the swirl of blue magic illuminating Dexter’s startled face. The diagnostic runes pulse for a moment before Leonard has his confirmation. He still hears the shock in his voice as he says, “Richard broke the spell and sealed it with one of his own, no less. I think even the Council might have trouble returning Dexter to his familiar form.”

Richard weakly bristles, but Dexter’s sister surges to her feet. “If the Council wants to try, they’re going through me.”

Dexter stares down at Richard. “You sealed it?”

“‘Course,” Richard says hoarsely.

Dexter opens his mouth, then closes it.

“You need to eat something,” Carolina says firmly, snatching a cookie off the plate Church is still holding. She presses it into Richard’s hand, the unscarred one, and hovers over him, Dexter, and Dexter’s sister until he gets it to his mouth and takes a bite.

Emily seems delighted by the inevitable chaos, but Vanessa looks thunderstruck. She sidles over to Leonard. “What do you– the Council is going to–” She stops and blows out a breath, shrugging her shoulders. “This is going to shake things up.” Even before the sentence escapes her lips, she laughs. “Merlin’s beard, that’s the understatement of the century.”

“Perhaps,” Leonard says, even more dryly.

“And drink something,” Carolina says. “Can you sit up, or are you still dizzy?”

Leonard is relieved to see the cookie seems to have brought a little color back to Richard’s face, though Richard does wince as he sits up, still leaning heavily against Dexter. The back of his neck turns pink. Then he squints at the waterskin. “What is that?”

“Old people’s water bottle,” Dexter’s sister says. “Drink up!”

Richard has just finished the waterskin when the double doors reopen.

Everyone tenses as Malcolm strides out into the waiting room.

Leonard does too, at least until he sees the flat expression on Malcolm’s face and the small, barely noticeable twitch in his jaw. He doesn’t dare hope they will get out of this completely scot-free, but he feels a spark of hope at whatever decision the Council has made to cause that seething frustration.

“The Council has made their decision,” Malcolm says in clipped, professional tones. “Come inside.”

Richard wobbles as Dexter helps him to his feet. He’s looking a little better, but still too wan for Leonard’s liking. The man should be home in bed, recovering from the backlash. Richard lists into Dexter’s side as they re-enter the chambers.

The Council are still seated in their usual chairs. When Leonard studies their faces, Drell looks furious and isn’t trying to hide it, having summoned his mole. He’s petting it so intently that the mole squirms in his grip, letting out snuffles of protests. Cassandra looks pensive more than anything else, staring at Richard as though she would like to put him under a microscope.

And Skippy has self-satisfaction radiating off of him. When everyone enters the room, he beams at Dexter and Richard and gives them both a thumb’s up.

“Stop gloating,” Drell snarls at him.

Skippy looks contrite for a second, but as soon as Drell refocuses on the group, he begins to smile again.

Cassandra leans forward, steepling her fingers and resting her chin on them. She looks the entire group over for a moment, eyebrows rising a little when she sees that Vanessa, Emily, and Dexter’s sister have entered as well. Her lips purse, but she doesn’t order them out. Instead she clears her throat and looks at Leonard.

Even with Skippy’s smile, Leonard still feels his stomach twist. He holds his breath as she stares at him for a long moment.

“Leonard Church. While the Council will advise you not to take this as license to attempt this again with other mortals, your experiment clearly has merit. We expect a copy of your notes on the subject immediately and to be kept up to date with every new development.”

Leonard breathes out slowly. He offers her and the other Councilors a deep bow. “Yes, Councilors.”

Cassandra looks at the rest of the group, though Leonard notes that her gaze seems to skip over Dexter as though he isn’t there. Her voice grows stern. “Carolina Church. James Church. While you have not violated any laws, Malcolm had a point. I would advise you to think very carefully before you tell any other mortals you are witches. Your luck will not last.”

Carolina looks slightly mulish, but Church nods. “Got it!” He pantomimes zipping his mouth shut.

Cassandra pauses.

“As for the charges of Reckless and Excessive Fraternization with Mortals and violation of the Charitable Acts law, we find that these are extenuating circumstances. All charges are hereby dropped.”

Dexter’s sister starts to cheer, then makes a face when Cassandra interrupts, her voice sharp.

“You will find yourselves back in this chamber and with even more intense punishments in store if any of you prove indiscreet in this matter. We’ll have no mention of the doctor’s experiment bandied about in the Other Realm until he has finished with this experiment.”

Drell snarls, “OR YOU’LL BE SORRY!”

Still wan, Richard gets a similarly mulish expression on his face. Obviously he’s coherent enough to notice that Cassandra is talking around the situation and almost acting as though he and Dexter don’t exist.

Before he can say anything that would jeopardize this unexpected leniency, Leonard clears his throat. He gives another bow. “I am sure we all understand the ramifications of this experiment. I shall get you my notes and update you on every new discovery, Councilors. Let us not take up any more of your valuable time.”

Skippy smiles and gives them all a wave while Drell’s eyes narrow.

“THEN GET LOST!”

Thankfully it isn’t a magical command, just a frustrated snarl. The chamber doors swing open. Richard, sandwiched between Dexter and his sister, is hustled swiftly outside, but the doors almost shut on Church.

He yelps and jumps forward as the doors snap closed. Rubbing at his posterior, he grumbles, “Okay, glad we’re not in jail. What’s next?”

“I want to go home,” Carolina says.

There’s the faintest catch in her voice, but it’s infectious. Leonard feels his own throat go tight. Malcolm had threatened his family and proposed taking Allison away from them again. Leonard will not forget that.

He clears his throat again. “I think that’s an excellent idea.”

Emily giggles. “I think dear Richard and Dexter and…?” She quirks an eyebrow.

“Kai.”

“And Kai should join us at the brownstone!”

Church squints at her. “You just want to poke and prod at Simmons like you did me.”

Emily giggles again. She looks unapologetic. Her hands go to her hips as she beams at Church. “A mortal experiencing a magical backlash? Of course I do! There’s no telling what strain it’s put his body under!”

Dexter glares, but Kai says, “Probably a good idea to get him checked over, bro.”

“I’m fine,” Richard protests. It might have been more believable if he weren’t still leaning against Dexter and there wasn’t a certain pallor to his skin. He still tries to glare when Emily smiles and says, “Nothing invasive, I promise!”

The Council building has teleportation closets that can be keyed to all registered witch closets. Leonard watches Emily place her hand onto the doorknob, mutter her address, and then open the door.

“Everyone, pile in!”

The rumble of thunder is one of the sweetest sounds Leonard has ever heard, even if he doesn’t believe they’ve gotten away with everything. The Council will stew on this. Something else will happen. It’s only a matter of time.

For the moment, however, he lets himself set that problem aside for later, because another sweet sound fills his ears: Allison’s feet as she bolts from the living room to the stairs. She bounds up the steps, her hair loose from her ponytail as though she’s been running her fingers through it, with a parade of mortal children close at her heels.

Their eyes meet. Allison searches his expression for a long second. Then she relaxes, her shoulders loosening. “Guess I don’t have to break anyone’s nose today.”

“Oh, that Malcolm guy would’ve deserved it,” Church mutters.

“All charges dropped,” Leonard says.

He suspects only Allison hears, because the teenagers peer around Allison and begin to shout questions. There are so many that they all end up jumbled together, a muddle of words and noises instead of decipherable questions, but the worried yells make Carolina smile.

It’s a slightly distracted smile, but she gives them all a grin before she squeezes past Emily on the stairs and walks straight into Allison’s arms.

Allison gives her a hug and then looks expectantly at Leonard and Church.

“Yeah, yeah,” Church says, a fake protest.

Once she has them all in her arms, awkwardly positioned on the staircase, Leonard drops his head to her shoulder and breathes her in. Leonard can feel the last of the tension drain from her and knows that she can probably feel the relief in him too.

“C’mon,” Allison says after a moment. Her voice is thick but brusque. “Let’s get some food into you. Dick looks about to fall over.”

“Wait,” Tucker says. When Leonard reluctantly pulls away from Allison, he discovers that Tucker is squinting up at the rest of the group, his eyes focused on a particular figure. “Who’re you?”

“The Easter Bunny,” Dexter deadpans.

“And the Easter Bunny’s sis,” Kai adds with a grin.

Caboose blinks. “Oh! I didn’t realize the Easter Bunny was a witch. Do you like your job?” Before anyone can respond, he turns his attention to Church. “Church!” He reaches out a long arm and tugs Church, mostly unresisting, past Allison and into another hug.

Church makes a token protest before he leans into the embrace.

The scene dissolves into a general, relieved chaos.

Everyone begins drifting down the stairs, with a few of the youths continuing to squint at Dexter and a few looking with concern at the still-pale Richard. Washington and Niner loop their arms through Carolina’s and grin at her. Questions and answers are flung around so quickly that Leonard is certain he misses half of them, though he doesn’t find himself bothered, staying close to Allison.

There’s a sharp rise in volume as someone yells, “THE CAT GUY?” and Kai begins to laugh.

“All right, motherduckers,” she says as they all reach the living room. “You know what’s next!”

“Food?” Church offers hopefully.

“Answers?” Connie asks.

“Diagnostic tests?” Emily suggests.

“Peace and quiet?” Richard mutters, sinking onto the couch. He doesn’t seem to notice that his scarred hand is still clasped in Dexter’s.

Kai rolls her eyes. “Wow, wussies. No!”

She claps her hands. There is an explosion of yellow sparks and fireworks.

“IT’S TIME TO PARTY!”

There’s a round of laughter and then a few flares of other magic as Vanessa and Emily begin to conjure enough food to feed an invading army. Or perhaps simply a small group of teenagers, Leonard muses, watching the youths descend on the pizza and hamburgers like starving wolves.

This is a momentary peace, he knows. There will be consequences for Richard breaking the Council’s own spell.

He sighs as Allison’s arm slings over his shoulder and she presses in close. Her breath is warm on his ear as she says, “I can see your brain turning somersaults and being a downer, Leonard. Take the win for a night. Look at our kids.”

Leonard obeys. He looks at Church, still half-tucked under Caboose’s arm as he tries to eat three pizza slices in one go, who’s radiating relief and happiness even while he almost chokes on the first bite. And he looks at Carolina, surrounded by friends who care about her, who catches him watching and beams at him.

He looks at Vanessa and Emily as well, who have become an unexpected part of the family as they cared for his children. Vanessa has an amused look on her face and a warning hand on Emily’s wrist while Emily pouts and gestures towards Richard, who has his head on Dexter’s shoulder and is clearly falling asleep.

It’s only when Allison presses a kiss to his jaw that he realizes he’s smiling.

“That’s better.”

Just like the season one finale, we don’t have an Honorable or Dishonorable Mention, or even a fun episode fact for you! Instead we have another interview with Benjamin Giraud, who you might remember was one of three writers who was in the writer’s room for the entire run. Let’s all leave nice comments for him as he takes time out of his busy schedule to answer this Q&A!

OhMyWitchyCarolina: Thanks again for speaking with us!

Benjamin Giraud: Thanks for asking me! It’s been fun watching new and old fans enjoy this show, thanks to this site and Hulu.

OMWC: As much as we’d like to take the credit, the show wouldn’t have gotten a fresh generation of fans if the show wasn’t amazing! Speaking of amazing, you know what we’re going to ask first.

BG: I have a feeling!

OMWC: THAT KISS!

BG: Yes.

OMWC: How did you get to write that scene and actually show it on TV? I mean, it was 1999. Ellen had only come out a few years earlier, and Will and Grace had only been on the air for two years.

BG: In all honesty? We’d been told we were getting canceled.

OMWC: Really?! I mean, I guess it makes sense, the second half of the season felt a little rushed at times, but I figured it was just the writers’ determination to get Carolina and Leonard reunited with Allison and not keep them and the viewers waiting!

BG: Well, there was a bit of that as well! We never intended to end the series with that reunion. Our original plan was to open season five off with it, and spend the first half of the season adjusting to this new normal. When we got word of the impending cancellation, though, we had to do some hasty reshuffling to make sure the fans would be satisfied by the finale!

OMWC: So the reunion was planned, just not for season four. Was the kiss always endgame?

BG: Not at all! We always planned for Grif and Simmons to be close, of course, but it was actually the actors who came to the writers’ room when we were planning season two—

OMWC: SEASON TWO?!! Sorry.

BG: Season two! I’ll admit that Grif was originally planned as just a discount Salem. The Powers That Be saw Salem’s popularity and wanted that for our show. We’d compromised by having him be the comic relief they wanted, but also Simmons’ confidant and an example of the Council’s unfairness to witches as well as half-mortals.

OMWC: Right. But then the actors showed up at the writers’ room?

BG: They sat us down and talked to us about their characters’ chemistry. And we realized they were right. Of course, we couldn’t promise them it would be anything more than subtext. Any whiff of it on a kids’ show would probably get us canceled. But we started testing the waters with Donut and Dufresne and laying the groundwork with a hazy plan of confirming it in the series finale. And when we found out we were being canceled and season four would be the last, and well, we had two seasons less time to figure out how that was going to happen.

OMWC: Wait. So if the kiss wasn’t planned….

BG: Neither was Simmons breaking the spell.

OMWC: Holy crap!

BG: Yeah, we figured out if we were getting canceled, why not go out with a bang? It’s not like they could cancel us twice!

OMWC: Except then you got renewed.

BG: Except then we got renewed…. Apparently there was so much controversy around the finale that it caused more interest. And we weren’t even the first to have a gay storyline on a kid’s show! My So Called Life was a 1994 show that only lasted a season, but they definitely paved the way. I’ll be honest, it probably helped that we were exploring adult relationships. I don’t think we could’ve pulled off something like Church and Tucker dating, for example. But yeah, while there were boycotts, there was enough interest that we got our unexpected renewal.

OMWC: And then you had to figure out what to do next.

BG: Heh. Yes.

OMWC: Well, I can’t ask too much else without going to spoilers for season five and don’t want to take up too much of your time, but is there anything else you’d like to talk about before you go?

BG: Just to thank you and the fans! It’s great to watch people enjoy something you put your heart and soul into. And for the show to still have meaning to so many people after so many years feels really special. Just, uh, bear with us for season five and six. You can imagine the struggle we had in the writers’ room, but I think it turned out pretty well!