Chapter Text
They arrived just past midnight.
The knock this time was soft, deliberate. Two taps, then a pause. Familiar. You opened the door and found Annie already stepping inside, her eyes scanning the house before you could even greet her.
“The spirits told me to come,” she said before you could ask.
Behind her, Bert and Joan hovered near the porch steps. Their eyes weren’t glowing, but they were sharp—wide-awake in that unearthly, alert way they had when something wasn’t right.
You pulled them all inside, and Annie didn’t wait. She walked straight to Remmick where he stood by the stairs, his posture stiff with tension.
“Tell me what happened,” she said.
So you did—voice low, hands shaking just a little as you recounted the knock, the eyes, the way you’d run upstairs clutching iron like it could save you.
Annie didn’t flinch. Just nodded like she’d heard it before. Like she’d expected it.
Bert and Joan said nothing at first. They slipped back outside, crouched low to the floorboards, breathing in slow through their noses. You watched from the doorway, arms crossed tight over your chest as they sniffed along the porch rail and the steps.
After a few minutes, Bert stood straight and turned toward you. Joan followed a second later.
“We’re glad you’re alright,” Bert said simply. “Don’t worry. We’ll find out who did this.”
Joan nodded, eyes meeting yours with a rare warmth. “Ain’t nobody allowed to come knockin’ like that ‘cept family. And this”—she gestured to the house—“this is your place. We’ll handle it.”
You nodded, throat tight. “Thank you.”
The rest of the night slipped by soft and slow.
You sat beside Remmick on the couch, your body sagging against his side as sleep pulled at your eyelids. The conversation between him and Annie dipped quiet, down to a hush you could barely make out—just whispers about wards, doorways, the smell on the wind.
At some point, Remmick shifted beneath you, and you felt his arms slide under your legs and shoulders.
“C’mon, mo ghrá,” he murmured. “Time to rest that brilliant head.”
You were half-asleep as he lifted you, the scent of his shirt and the hum of his voice pressing against your cheek like a lullaby.
“Annie,” he said over your head, “you’re more than welcome to take the downstairs room.”
“I plan on it,” she replied without looking up. “Gonna bless the house properly come morning. See what else the ancestors got to say ‘bout all this foolishness.”
He paused on the stairs. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me till they speak.”
Then you were carried upstairs, tucked into bed with care, your last memory of the night being the creak of floorboards and the sound of Annie lighting another candle downstairs.
-
Morning crept in slow, like it wasn’t sure it was welcome. Light filtered through the curtains, brushing over the walls with that gentle warmth that usually made you feel safe. But not today.
You woke disoriented, your body heavy with the weight of the night before. The knock. The eyes. The scent Remmick had tracked through the doorway. Sleep had come only after Remmick wrapped himself around you like a second quilt, whispering soft nothings until your heart finally slowed.
Your feet touched the floor with a dull ache. You moved quiet through the house, the wooden boards cool against your skin, trailing the scent of coffee and something frying.
Downstairs, the kitchen was already alive.
Annie stood at the stove, flipping cornbread cakes with a practiced hand, her braid tucked into a scarf and her sleeves rolled high. The smell of butter, eggs, and chicory coffee filled the air.
Remmick was leaning against the counter, barefoot and rumpled, eyes soft when they found you.
“Morning, mo ghrá,” he said gently. “Didn’t wanna wake you.”
Annie gave you a once-over without missing a beat on the pan. “You look like a ghost coughed on you.”
You huffed and sank into a chair. “Feels about right.”
Remmick moved to sit beside you, brushing his hand over your back before speaking. “Bert and Joan followed the scent for a while... got as far as the creek near the train tracks, but then it vanished. Like they’d been swallowed up.”
You nodded slowly. “Still... I appreciate them tryin’. Both of y’all.”
Remmick’s jaw tensed, but he softened again when you met his eyes. “I’m stayin’ closer from now on. Even when I have to go hunt, one of them’ll be here. I ain’t leavin’ my wife unprotected.”
Annie slid a plate in front of you with a sharp clatter. “Eat somethin’ before you start makin’ declarations. I ain’t got time for romance on an empty stomach.”
You smiled weakly. “Thank you, Annie. This smells real good.”
Remmick leaned over and inhaled dramatically above his plate. “Mm. Ain’t she just the sweetest dark priestess in the Delta.”
Annie narrowed her eyes. “You call me sweet again and I’m pourin’ grits in your boots.”
Remmick grinned. “Aw, c’mon, Annie. Give me a break. When I was human, I was a white boy livin’ in Ireland. That was before England started stealin’ spices. Excuse me for likin’ flavorful food now.”
That earned him a short laugh—even Annie cracked a grin, shaking her head as she handed him his coffee.
You picked at your food for a bit, eyes growing heavy again.
Remmick noticed right away. He reached over and brushed his knuckle along your jaw. “You good, sweetheart?”
You gave him a soft nod. “Just tired. Think I’m gonna head back to bed.”
Remmick perked up, eyes twinkling as he straightened in his chair. “Want some company? I’m real good at sleepin’ the day away. Got centuries of practice.”
He wiggled his eyebrows at you, and you groaned, pushing your plate back.
Annie waved a dish towel in your direction. “Y’all better shut that mess down before I throw salt at both of you.”
You laughed and stood, Remmick already sliding his hand into yours.
By the time your feet hit the stairs again, your eyelids were already drooping. Remmick followed close behind, and when you collapsed back into the bed, he wrapped himself around you without question—one arm tucked under your head, the other lazily curved around your waist.
You could’ve slept through the evening. Maybe even longer.
But it was Friday.
And you hadn’t missed a night at The Juke yet.