On tour with The Rade, music’s out and proud glam rock darlings, drummer Wren is having the time of their life. That is, until their worst knocker-fae nightmare suddenly happens: They’re sucked off stage and into a witch’s summoning circle mid-show. A powerful binding keeps them from leaving their enthraller’s side, and the annoyingly hot witch claims it’s all just a mistake. But since when has a human ever passed up the chance to use fairy magic for their own financial gain?
August Minotte should’ve been trained as a hereditary witch, but instead he was forbidden to use the grimoires his infamous grandmother left him. The Minottes lost a huge fortune for mysterious reasons, and now Augie’s barely keeping his head -- and his dwindling family -- above water. When he finds a spell to get back their lost riches, he’s just desperate enough to use it. Then the spell summons and enthralls a beautiful, spicy fairy rockstar instead delivering a long-lost pile of money.
They’ll both have to face their families’ dark histories to set Wren free. Then, and only then, they can think about acting on all this pent-up attraction that’s driving them both absolutely wild.
August’s bedroom was somehow even more crammed with stuff than his living room. The bed was small, full-sized but no more, with a sewing machine crammed against it in one corner. Wire rack shelves of fabric and sewing supplies lined the walls, and the closet -- the closet was a nightmare. Way too small for the clothes he had, and not enough organization to make the most of the space.
Wren stared at it in open dismay, shaking their head.
August frowned. “I mean, I know I need to clean it up a little, but it’s not that bad.”
“It’s a disgrace,” Wren said, pulling out a few pieces to admire: a soft cable-knit sweater, another waistcoat, this one in a different brocade, a t-shirt with the neck and sleeves cut out. “And it’s even worse because your taste is fire. Is everything in here this cute?”
His expression softened. “I try.”
“You succeed,” Wren declared, going through the rack at a leisurely pace, now. “Damn, boy. You ever consider makeup?”
August shook his head. “I know it’s not really, but it always feels a little bit femme to me. I spent a lot of my life trying not to look femme, so ...”
“Oh, we can do some amazing traditionally masc looks, though,” Wren assured him, feeling oddly satisfied to have confirmation that August was, in fact, trans. Wren had kind of figured, as you did, but it was still a point of connection. And that was good. “If you’re ever curious.”
“I ... might be.” He sounded a little surprised as he said it. Then laughed. “You’re all over the place.”
“Yep.” But Wren looked over their shoulder to ask, “Why, especially, though?”
“Sometimes I feel like you’re mad enough to bite me.”
“I am,” Wren replied cheerfully.
“Yeah. And then other times you want to do my makeup and organize my closet. It’s like whiplash.”
“You’ll have plenty of time to get used to it.” Wren pulled out a deep sapphire-colored waistcoat embroidered with gold, so it looked like baroque wallpaper. “You have to bring this. I’m obsessed.”
“I had fun with this one.” August accepted the piece and laid it out on the bed.
“Did you make all of these?”
“The waistcoats, yeah. I started making them in school, before I had top surgery because nothing fit right. Ended up enjoying it, so I just kept going. It’s a little side hustle, too. Hence all the stuff in here.”
Wren glanced around at the wire racks again, spotted a bunch of plastic containers full of small, colorful knots of fiber. “You do the embroidery, too?”
“Yeah.” August slipped past Wren into the closet and went up on his toes to grab for a suitcase. “It’s relaxing.”
“Robbie likes doing stuff like that, too. Seems like it’d be frustrating as fuck.”
“Nah. It’s soothing to have something to do with my hands. I just listen to audiobooks or watch TV while I do it and time flies.”
“Huh.” Maybe Wren needed something to do with their hands, then. Sitting still was a cast iron bitch for them, most days. “Organizing stuff does that for me. If we had time, I’d take a weekend to organize this closet for you, because this is making my skin crawl.”
August chuckled. “I have a system. I know where everything is.”
“Sure you do, Gus.”
“Ugh, no.” August laughed again, though.
“What, then?” Wren asked, back to flipping through Augie’s stuffed racks of bespoke (and clearly vintage thrifted, now they were paying attention) clothing.
“Augie.”
“Oh, that’s even cuter.”
“Is it?” Augie settled the suitcase on his bed and flipped it open.
“Definitely. It’s nerdy but in a fun way. Like those slutty little glasses of yours.”
“My glasses are slutty?” Augie paused and looked over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised.
“They’re giving, I know I’m hot, but I’d look even better on your bedside table energy, yes,” Wren said blithely. Then they realized. “That’s a compliment, by the way. Any time Harper or I call something slutty it’s a stamp of approval, honest. We’re all about the slutty vibes.”
August had flushed completely pink by then, but he was smiling as he turned back to his suitcase. “Noted. Uh, thanks?”
Nice reaction to flirting, too. The situation still sucked ass, but maybe they could have a little fun with it, while they were stuck together, right? “Welcome! Oh, gods, definitely need this one, too. And this. We might need a bigger suitcase.”
