Chapter Text
It was a windy November afternoon in Dalston, and inside the Nabootique, a storm was brewing.
Vince was deep in his closet, standing amid hangers and hangers of clothes, frantically tearing pieces down, checking them over, and tossing them aside. He had initially intended to put together an outfit for a performance later that evening, but he’d quickly realized that something was wrong.
Vince’s clothing was normally in immaculate condition, but for some reason, every single item had been viciously torn or ripped apart.
“This can’t be happening! It’s all gone wrong!” he exclaimed after coming across yet another ruined jumpsuit, casting it to the ground.
The door to his room slammed open, and Vince spun around to see Howard standing in the doorway.
“Vince, we need to talk,” Howard stated firmly, crossing his arms. “I know you have taken my things, and this cannot stand.”
“What do you mean?” Vince asked incredulously. “I took your things? How about what you’ve done to mine?”
Howard shook a finger. “Distractions won’t be enough this time, little man.” He strode forward, and Vince could see that his face was clear of any sort of mirth. “You’ve stolen my favorite jazz record, and I’d like it back now. This isn’t a game.”
Vince scoffed and extracted himself from his closet. “Bold words coming from the man who destroyed all of my clothing!” he cried. “I’ve got a gig tonight; what do you expect me to wear?”
“Destroyed all your clothing? Don’t be ridiculous.” Howard drew himself to his full height. “Why would I even want to do that?”
Vince swiped up a lime green shirt from the floor and peered at Howard through the hole in its midsection. “I think you’re angry with my style,” he exclaimed. “Or maybe it’s a cruel prank to get back at me for taking whatever you’ve lost.” He let the shirt slide from his fingers.
The answer seemed to only make Howard more mad. “So you admit you stole it!” he ran his fingers through his hair wildly, beginning to pace. “Oh, this is just wonderful. I knew it was a bad idea trusting you with the key to my jazz cabinet.”
“Well, I shouldn’t have trusted you with the key to my closet!” Vince spat back, looking at the remains of his gorgeous clothes. “Don’t even think of coming near anything else of mine!”
“Taking the martyr route, I see,” Howard spat. “As if I’d even touch your clothes. They’re ugly enough without any help.”
That was a low blow. Vince cast around wildly for something to say, something to relieve the pain that had sprouted in his heart. “You said you liked my style!”
Howard clucked his tongue. “Maybe if you respected my personal belongings more, I would respect your fashion more. I thought I could trust you, Vince. Guess I was wrong.”
“You can’t be serious,” Vince couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Howard had destroyed his most prized possessions, accused him of being a thief, and now was insulting him? “I don’t think I trust you, either, then. I think you should...leave!”
The word was unexpected, falling from his lips, and for a split second, Vince imagined that Howard would be shocked but then laugh, and everything would be right again. Howard would know he didn’t really mean it.
“Leave?” Howard blanched, but his anger took over and his face reddened. “Maybe I will! I suppose it would be best if I live with someone who will respect me and my possessions!” He turned and stormed from the room.
“Howard! Wait!” Vince called after him, casting an anguished look at his closet before hurrying to follow. “What are you doing?”
“It’s time I left!” Howard shouted, storming down the stairs. “It’s clear I’m not wanted around here anymore! And there’s no reason to stay!”
Vince felt fat tears well up in his eyes at the admission, and he stumbled down the stairs, clinging onto the bannister with a tight grip. “Fine, then. If you want to go anyway, don’t let me keep you!” The world was spinning around him, and he felt sick to his stomach.
Reaching the door of the Nabootique, Howard paused to turn back and look to where Vince was shaking at the base of the stairs. A pained expression flitted across his face, before his resolve hardened and his eyes turned stony. “Goodbye, Vince,” he croaked.
Vince couldn’t get out any words in return.
Howard nodded once, sharply, and swung the door open.
As he stepped forward, however, a figure materialized just in front of him, and Howard reeled back in shock, sputtering.
It seemed Howard might stay a little longer, at least until the situation was sorted out.
Vince hastily wiped his eyes as the imposing figure swept past Howard and strode into the shop. He was clearly magical in some way, dressed head to toe in black and radiating power.
The impressive image was ruined only by the papoose strapped to his chest, which held some sort of pink creature that Vince vaguely recognized.
“Excuse me, but the shop is closed, sir,” Howard stuttered hastily, clearing his throat and casting a nervous glance at Vince.
The man shot him a glare. “How dare you speak to me in such an insolent tone? I’m not a customer! I am Saboo, esteemed member of the Board of Shaman, and I am here on official shaman business.”
“Oh, uh—” Howard started, but was cut off.
“And I’m Tony Harrison,” the creature in the papoose called out in a nasally tone. “I’m Saboo’s partner.”
“Get stuffed,” Saboo snapped. “We are definitely not equals.”
Tony Harrison squirmed his tentacles. “That’s no way to speak to your partner! Let me out of this papoose, and I’ll come at ya like a train!”
“As if a little pink ball sack like you could do any damage.” Saboo replied, attention completely diverted from Howard and Vince. “You couldn’t even reach higher than my ankles.”
“Now that’s just offensive!” Tony Harrison replied.
“Can we help you with something?” Vince butted in cautiously, noticing that Saboo looked ready to murder his partner. “It’s just, we were kind of in the middle of something.”
Howard winced at the reminder.
“You both are in serious trouble,” Saboo said quickly, eyes blazing.
“What? Why? Is someone after us?” Howard asked in a nervous tone, instinctually striding across the room to step in front of Vince and glancing around for any perceived danger.
Tony laughed. “He doesn’t mean it like that! He means you’ve done a bad, bad thing!”
“I see,” Howard said, blushing and moving away from Vince, avoiding eye contact. “Of course.”
“What exactly do you think we’ve done?” Vince challenged, putting a hand on his hip. “We haven’t broken any rules!”
“Nice try,” was all Saboo said in response. He snapped his fingers, and a plush sofa appeared in the center of the shop. “Sit down.”
Vince let Howard take a seat first, and then he perched himself at the opposite end, as far from the other man as possible. Adjusting his shirt, Vince suddenly felt extremely self-conscious about his outfit.
Did Howard really hate his clothes? If he’d gone so far as to rip the rest up, Howard must be embarrassed to be seen with him, especially with magical company. At the thought, Vince pursed his lips and tried to bring his brain back to the matter at hand.
“You’ve created this mess for yourselves, and you’re going to clean it up,” Saboo stated firmly, choosing to ignore the uncomfortable tension between the two men. “I understand that Naboo and his familiar have been away on other business, which is why I’m the one speaking to you now.”
“And me!” Tony Harrison called, and was promptly ignored.
“We have been getting reports that dark magic has been used at this residence.” Saboo tapped his foot, staring at Howard with a menacing gleam in his eyes.
“Hold on, don’t look at me!” Howard protested. “I haven’t been up to anything.”
Vince shrunk back as Saboo’s gaze was turned on him. “It’s not me, either. I haven’t done any magic since that whole mess with Nanatoo.”
“It was the two of them working together—I just know it!” Tony Harrison unhelpfully called.
“Unfortunately for you both, I know you’re lying,” Saboo stated firmly. “And I’ll have you sorry fools know that the punishment for such a crime is death!”
“Death? That’s a bit overkill, don’tcha think?” Vince quickly asked, face pale.
“Don’t kill me, I’ve got so much to give!” Howard added, subconsciously scooting closer to Vince.
“However,” Saboo cut in, “though you have significantly damaged the magical presence of this store, you have somehow avoided injuring anyone in the process, so you will be getting a second chance.”
Howard let out a shaky breath.
Saboo raised his hand with a flourish, and a sparkling silver broach appeared. Vince immediately thought that it would be an absolutely genius accessory.
“This is for the two of you,” Saboo said. “It is a powerful magical device. If it were up to me, I would not trust two imbeciles with access to more magic, but I happened to be outvoted.”
Tony Harrison waved a tentacle.
Saboo begrudgingly handed the broach to Vince, who immediately pinned it to his shirt. The broach briefly pulsed with light, and a feeling of warmth spread through Vince’s chest, making him feel light and floaty. “Howard, look,” he murmured, despite himself.
Saboo cleared his throat, and the moment was broken. “You must be very careful operating this,” he warned. “In order to get rid of the traces of black magic, you two will hold it aloft together, chant a magic chant, and clearly picture your goal. I have written the chant on this paper.” He passed over a folded slip.
“If it’s that easy, why don’t we just do it now?” Vince asked eagerly, reaching out for the paper and lightly touching the broach with his other hand.
“It can only be operated under the full moon, of course!” Tony Harrison piped up.
“That’s tonight,” Howard realized, shooting a glance at Vince as he pocketed the magic chant.
“Exactly.” Saboo glared at the two of them once more. “And this will be your only chance. If, for any reason, you fail to activate the broach by midnight tonight and don’t get rid of the black magic here, I will be back to personally escort the two of you to the shaman gallows.”
Vince shivered, and Howard scooted even closer to him until their shoulders briefly touched.
“Good luck,” Saboo said mockingly. He clapped his hands, and he and Tony Harrison disappeared.
For a moment, Howard and Vince sat motionless together on the couch. Suddenly, the couch vanished into thin air beneath them, and they tumbled to the floor.
Vince sat up achily, patting down his hair. “Tonight, then,” he said, peeking over at Howard.
Howard coughed and averted his eyes. “Tonight.”
“Got any plans in the meantime?” Vince forced himself to ask, hoping the words came out casual.
“Figured I’d pack,” Howard said, standing and still refusing to look at Vince. “Think I’ll be off tonight after the ceremony.” He paused in the doorway.
A wave of sadness crashed over Vince, tinged with a mixture of guilt and anger. He’d been hoping that they could make things right since their argument had been interrupted, but it was starting to sound like Howard really didn’t want to live with him anymore.
“Alright, great,” Vince spat, keeping his eyes to the floor so that Howard wouldn’t see his tears. “See you at the ceremony, then.”
Howard looked as though he was waiting for Vince to say something else, but then a shadow passed over his face and he started up the stairs. “Sure. See you, Vince.”
...
An hour later, Vince found himself lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling and trying not to think about Howard. He was failing miserably.
With his clothes ruined and now the whole ceremony to worry about, Vince had cancelled his gig, but he was starting to really regret it. His heart felt as though it had been torn in two, and with no distractions, he couldn’t keep his mind from replaying the awful fight.
Eyes running over the blank whiteness of the ceiling, Vince wondered if he should have done things differently.
It was too late to keep Howard from leaving, or was it? Vince desperately wanted to beg Howard to change his mind, but if the other man really didn’t want to live with him anymore, what would be the point?
“Please stay, Howard,” Vince whispered to himself. “We can work this out, right? We’ve had fights before.”
A brief knock came at Vince’s door, and he sprung up out of bed, surprised and excited.
“Howard!” Vince exclaimed, moving to open the door. “Have you decided to stay—” the words trailed off as he realized the person standing on the other side of the door was not Howard.
It was the Hitcher.
Vince quickly scrambled backwards, looking around for something to defend himself with. Two imposing, magical figures appearing at the Nabootique in one day? What were the odds? “What are you doing here?”
“Thought I was someone else, didn’t ya?” the Hitcher laughed. “What a pity.” His voice was deep and mocking.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Vince pointed out, voice wavering.
“Well…” The Hitcher paused, as though preparing a long speech, and Vince had a moment to analyze the situation.
He realized that even though the man looked exactly like the Hitcher—with the same black coat, same long, wispy hair, and same fashionable boots—there were some slight differences. The man’s skin was as pale as Vince’s, rather than the deep green, and neither of his thumbs were enlarged.
“Wait, what happened to your appearance? Are you trying out a different style?” Vince couldn’t help but ask. He started to make a plan to distract the man and call Howard for help, but then he remembered that Howard was angry with him, and a rush of hurt overwhelmed him.
“Like my new look, boy?” the Hitcher crowed. He brandished a cane, and Vince flinched back. “Don’t you worry about it! You should be worrying about what I’m about to do with you.”
“What do you want from me?” Vince asked, deciding to ignore the discrepancies for the moment.
“What a question, what a question!” the Hitcher exclaimed, beginning to pace in the small bedroom. “See, I’m a simple man, with simple needs, and I’m heading home. I want nothing to do with this place!”
Vince bit his lip, thinking. Dealing with the Hitcher was like dealing with a wild animal, where you could never predict what would set him off. Vince didn’t want to anger the man, but it seemed as though the Hitcher was in a pretty good mood at the moment.
“Alright, then,” Vince said, clapping his hands together and trying to give a winning smile. “I’ve got to prepare for a ceremony tonight, so you can go on your way.”
Unfortunately, at the mention of the ceremony, the Hitcher’s face contorted in fury. “I knew I’d extract the truth from ya! You’re trying to block my magic, and I won’t stand for it.”
Vince’s fear spiked and he took a few more steps back, hoping the man wouldn’t notice the broach on his chest. “Sorry?”
“How do you think I’m getting home, you slag?” the Hitcher growled. “Your little ceremony is going to get rid of my black magic transportation spell, but I’m not going to let that happen!”
Vince couldn’t believe he hadn’t made the connection, and a dawning horror swept over his mind. “You’re the reason there’s been black magic in the Nabootique? Let me guess, you were the one who destroyed my clothing, too?” he exclaimed, hoping it wasn’t true.
If Howard had really been innocent the whole time, then the argument had been completely unnecessary…
“’Course it was me!” the Hitcher laughed. “Had to stir up some resentment for the magic to work. And now, thanks to you, I have enough negativity and two guinea pigs to test it out on!”
He waved his cane in a complicated pattern, and through the bedroom window, Vince noticed clouds were gathering.
“Wait, do you really have to do this?” Vince called out, panicked, despite not knowing what was going to happen.
“Don’t worry, you’re not going to get hurt; probably, that is,” the Hitcher laughed, still moving the cane around in the air. “But you both will be going to some interesting places, that’s for sure! And you won’t get the chance to even think about the ceremony...until it’s too late!”
Wind started rushing through the room, and Vince brought up his arms to shield his face, hoping Howard would have time to escape before the Hitcher came for him, too.
Thrusting the cane down onto the floor, the Hitcher spit out a Latin chant, and the room began to distort around Vince as the wind grew louder and louder.
Vince squeezed his eyes tightly shut, cupping the broach to keep it shielded from the magic as the unknown spell took effect.
There was a harsh rumbling sound, as though there was thunder, and with that, everything went silent.
Vince waited for a moment, eyes still shut, before deciding it was safe to take a peek at what the spell had done.
When he opened his eyes and looked around, he realized that he was standing alone in the middle of a field, the Hitcher having disappeared.
“No way,” Vince said, spinning in a slow circle, his boots crushing the fragile stems of grass beneath his feet.
A light breeze picked up, and the soft coolness on his skin encouraged the idea that this was a real place he’d been thrust into, rather than a hallucination. He didn’t know if that was better or worse.
Besides open fields and patches of trees, the only thing that Vince could make out was a single house in the distance.
“I’m in the middle of nowhere!” he exclaimed incredulously to himself. “Howard!” Vince added in a shout, glancing around hopefully.
The Hitcher had mentioned that Howard was also going to be put under the spell, so there was a chance he was here. Fight or no fight, Vince had to admit, he needed the strength and protection that his friend offered. Already, this had been one of the longest days of his life.
“Howard must be around here somewhere, wherever this is,” Vince murmured to himself when there was no response.
After all, the Hitcher had definitely been planning to also target Howard, so the spell must have been cast on him, too. It was too painful to consider that the Hitcher might have done something worse to Howard.
As long as Vince could make his way out of this place, find Howard, and complete the ceremony, everything would be alright.
Pausing for a moment to make sure that Howard wasn’t going to pop out from behind any of the trees, Vince began making his way over to the solitary house. If it weren’t for his utter disorientation and pressing fear, he would have rather enjoyed the brief nature walk.
As he approached, Vince realized that it wasn’t just a house; there was also a trailer and some sort of shed clumped nearby in a huddle. The place looked dilapidated, like whoever lived there wasn’t interested in keeping things nice.
Vince stepped from the field onto the driveway and paused to assess his options. Heading straight to the house seemed like a bad choice; it felt like the kind of place where he’d end up brutally murdered. Besides, while the house was dark and silent, a light was on in the shed and he could faintly hear voices coming from within.
Hoping that Howard might be one of the people inside, Vince climbed the few steps and knocked lightly on the door of the shed. “Hello?” he called.
The voices paused, and there was a moment where Vince debated turning around and trying his luck somewhere else, but then the door opened.
In the low doorway stood a young man, grinning brightly. “Hello!” he said, bowing. “What is your purpose coming here?” He spoke in a thick Japanese accent, and he sounded genuinely excited to see Vince.
“I’m looking for my friend,” Vince said. “Tall, curly hair, scruffy mustache?”
The man’s smile grew. “Ah, you must mean Mr. Flowers! Come in, come in, he is just inside.” He waved Vince to enter the shed.
Peeking over the man’s shoulder, Vince noticed that there was indeed someone else there, slumped in a desk chair and facing away from the door, surrounded by clutter.
“I don’t think—” Vince started, not wanting to talk to some random guy, but the excited man spoke over him.
“In fact, I will give you two privacy,” he said, hurrying outside. The man tugged on Vince’s arm and all but pushed him into the shed before stepping back out and shutting the door. Vince could hear his footsteps retreating.
He grimaced and took a breath. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what I’m doing here,” Vince said, his voice loud in the silence. “I’ve just lost my friend Howard.”
Mr. Flowers, as he was supposedly called, slowly swiveled his chair around, and Vince’s mouth dropped open in shock as he got a good look at him.
“Are you Howard’s long-lost twin or something?” he couldn’t help but ask.
Mr. Flowers blinked at Vince with tired eyes. He was older than Howard, and his hair was longer and greasier, with the addition of a beard, but his face and posture were so similar to Howard’s that Vince was unnerved. Was this some sort of trick?
“I’m an only child,” Mr. Flowers said in a rough but recognizable voice. “But, uh, go ahead and have a seat.”
Vince lowered himself into the armchair that was beside him, unable to stop staring. The man was similar enough to Howard that it was eerie, and Vince was starting to wonder where exactly he’d been transported to.
“So,” Mr. Flowers started, clearly uncomfortable. His eyes darted to Vince and then back down to his lap. “You’ve lost your friend.”
Vince nodded, wondering what the man was thinking. He was used to being able to easily decipher Howard’s emotions, but Mr. Flowers’ face was blank. “We’d just had a big fight and everything, and now he’s gone,” Vince explained. “And you look just like him, Mr. Flowers!”
The man stretched his mouth wide in an imitation of a smile, but there was no joy in his expression. “Call me Maurice,” he said. “And I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Thanks,” Vince said, slightly worried by how dismal Maurice’s tone was. “Oh, and I’m Vince, by the way,” he hastily added, one leg bouncing up and down.
Maurice glanced up again at Vince. “It’s nice to meet you, Vince. Is there anything you need from me?” he asked flatly.
It was beginning to get unnerving, looking at such an unkempt Howard and hearing Howard’s voice speaking with such a desolate timbre. Maurice sounded lost and unhappy, completely contrasting from Howard’s usual confident, self-assured tone.
“Maybe some advice?” Vince asked, perking up. Maurice must know something about the situation he’d just been thrust into, or at least something about magic in general. Maybe there was a reason Vince had been taken here!
Maurice sucked in a deep breath. “I’m not, I’m not really the, uh, best person, to be coming to for...uh, advice,” he stuttered. He paused to laugh, a stilted, uncomfortable attempt at levity. “You see, well, I’m not sure about what, uh, ended your friend’s life, but...let’s just say, well, I’m not in the best...place...at the moment, either.”
Vince frowned and hesitated, realizing that Maurice was hinting at something important but not quite understanding.
For the moment, he decided not to clear up the misconception that Howard was dead. As important as that was, Vince could feel that there was more to what Maurice wanted to share, and he didn’t want to disrupt the conversation.
“Not in the best place?” Vince asked finally. “What do you mean?”
Maurice hastily picked up a package of cigarettes and lit one with a trembling grip. The smoke drifted lazily to the ceiling. “Well, yes, you see, I,” Maurice said, not making any sense. He shut his mouth with an audible click.
“It’s alright, I won’t judge you,” Vince earnestly said after a moment, yearning to go hug the man who looked so much like Howard and who was clearly hurting. “Take your time.”
Maurice blinked, surprised, and looked up at Vince as though truly seeing him for the first time. He took a shaky drag of the cigarette. “I quite appreciate that, Vince,” he said. “We’ve only just met, but it feels as though I already know you; like I can trust you.”
Vince grinned even as his heart ached. It felt wonderful to hear Maurice say such kind things, but the words had made him realize that one of the last things he and Howard had shouted was that they couldn’t trust each other.
Now, sitting here in this unknown place and separated from his friend, Vince found himself wishing that he could undo the past and make things right with him. He’d jumped to conclusions about his ruined clothing, and in hindsight, even a destroyed wardrobe seemed less important than his relationship with Howard.
It hadn’t been that long, but still, Vince already missed Howard greatly, and he wondered if he could try harder to convince his friend to stay at the Nabootique once they’d finished the ritual.
“I feel like I know you, too,” Vince said softly. “You can tell me anything.”
“I tried to take my own life,” Maurice suddenly blurted. The words hung heavily in the air. “Several days ago. Foolish, I know. I failed...obviously.” He barked out another painfully fake laugh.
Vince’s heart sped up and a tear slipped down his cheek. “Maurice, I’m so sorry.” It didn’t feel like enough.
Everything was starting to make sense: the messy room, the smoking, the haunted eyes and unwashed hair, and it was too much to consider, too painful to realize. “Does your family know?” he added, hoping that the answer was yes. If Howard was going through something like that, he’d confide in Vince, right?
“Not yet,” Maurice said. His cigarette hung forlornly between his fingers. “I’ve only told Shun.”
“Shun? Was that the man I met earlier?” Vince asked, and Maurice nodded. “Well, that’s a start.”
“I don’t even know how I managed to do that,” Maurice muttered. “And I’ve tried to tell my wife, but it’s just...never the right time.”
Vince was reminded of a conversation he’d recently had with Howard. Howard had been more nervous and awkward than usual, stuttering through his speech like Maurice had now, and the seriousness had scared Vince.
Worried that Howard was going to say something he wouldn’t want to hear, Vince hadn’t been able to listen. Instead, he’d just laughed and started in with his own story, lightening the mood and grinning when Howard lost his seriousness and played along.
He’d never thought to ask Howard what he’d originally been trying to say, hoping that it just hadn’t been that important, after all. But now, seeing things from Howard’s perspective, Vince could imagine that he might have been hurt by that.
Howard probably didn’t trust him enough to confide in him about anything, and that was a painful thought.
“It’s a terrible thing when someone you care about doesn’t want to hear what you have to say,” Vince murmured.
Maurice carefully extinguished his cigarette and when he looked up at Vince once again, his gaze stayed steady. “That’s a very wise sentiment.” Maurice smiled, and this time, the expression conveyed genuine happiness, though it was tinged with a bittersweet wistfulness. “Howard was lucky to have you.”
Vince gasped, a small choked sound. He clutched at the broach and couldn’t help the tears that began to fall from his eyes. Howard was alive, but suddenly he didn’t feel quite so sure about that.
What if Howard had died facing the Hitcher, and the last words they’d ever shared had been accusatory and biting? What if Vince would always have to live with the guilt of knowing he’d never properly been there for his friend?
Realizing he was spiraling and trying to center himself, Vince noticed that Maurice was looking out of the window with an understanding look on his face, providing him with a moment of privacy. Cheeks slightly coloring, Vince opened his mouth to say something, but a knock on the door beat him to it.
It was Shun, and he poked his head inside the shed. “Mr. Flowers? It’s nothing urgent, but I was wondering if—” he immediately broke off as he noticed the tears sliding down Vince’s cheeks. “Oh, I am so sorry! I’ll come back at a different time!”
“No, no, it’s alright,” Vince said, carefully wiping his tears so as not to smear his makeup. Taking a deep breath, Vince decided that if he was going to make things right with his own Howard, he unfortunately couldn’t stay talking to Maurice. “I should be off now, anyway, but this was well helpful. Thanks for talking with me.”
He stood, momentarily making sure that the broach was still securely pinned to his shirt before making his way to the door, the recent conversation running through his mind.
“Vince,” Maurice said as he was about to step outside, and Vince briefly turned back. “Thank you, really.” His voice was thick with emotion.
Vince took one last look at him, sitting forlornly in the messy shed, and nodded. “Hope things work out for you, Maurice.”
The two men smiled at each other, both conveying meaning that went beyond words.
“Thank you for visiting!” Shun suddenly exclaimed, breaking the moment. “Please come back soon!” He bowed and passed by Vince to enter the shed.
Vince nodded at him and started slowly down the steps, unsure which direction to go. The shed door closed as he left, and the low hum of voices started up once more.
It was only once he was a fair distance from the house that the oddity of the situation hit Vince, and he allowed himself to panic.
“That was Howard! Was that Howard? How do I find Howard?” He paced in the grass, carefully stepping to avoid the few flowers that dotted the meadow.
It didn’t seem like Howard was here, and to make things worse, Vince had a sinking feeling that ‘here’ didn’t simply apply to the residence. The idea crept up in his mind that if he tried to get a ride to Dalston, the Nabootique would not be there.
“I need to talk to Howard!” Vince called frantically, looking around as though a magical door might appear. He took a step and stumbled over his own boots. “Howard, I promise I’ll listen to anything you have to say!”
And just like that, the air around him let out the audible rumbling of thunder, and the peaceful but melancholy meadow scene started to blur.
Vince shut his eyes tightly to avoid getting a headache, and his last thought before the world reformed was, I hope Howard’s okay, wherever he is.