Bernard hooks an arm around Oswald’s waist and kisses his cheek. “Hear that, Ozzy? A couple hours all to ourselves.”
Oswald laughs and kisses Bernard on the lips, slow and gentle.
“And that’s my cue,” Eddie groans, rolling his eyes as he heads for the door. “You two can’t even wait until I’m out the door. It was adorable the first three times—the twelfth? Not so much.”
Oswald yelps as Bernard scoops him up, Oswald grabbing his neck fora deep kiss. “Unless you want a full show, I think this is Bernie’s way of telling you to get to your viewings.”
“I’m going, I’m going. By the gods—bye!”
Bernard waves him off, Oswald still clinging to him. “Have fun, bud. And you—come here.”
Eddie shuts the door behind him, shaking his head. A melancholic chuckle escapes him as he leaves his two best friends wrapped up in each other. He hopes he finds something like that one day. Someone to kiss and laugh with. Someone to hold and spin around, like happy couples at the end of romantic movies.
* * *
Back in Alexandria Heights, Jackson has just thanked and said goodbye to the third applicant of the day. He couldn’t bear the idea of living with any of them for even a day, let alone eighteen months. Maybe he was being overly picky. There was nothing explicitly wrong with any of them—but none of them felt right, either.
He sighs and glances at an old photo frame on the mantle beneath the television his mother had installed over the fireplace. The picture, taken about ten years ago, shows him and his grandmother Eloise celebrating Brenda’s hundredth birthday. Watching your best friend grow old—weak and fragile—was never easy. It was why he viewed his long life as a curse. Growing close to the wrong people meant watching them fade into nothing before his eyes.
“Why did you add that clause, Brenda?” he murmurs. “What future did you see for me here, in the place where we spent the best years of your life together?”
Before he can sink further into thought, the buzz of the intercom snaps his attention back. He carefully sets the photo down and moves to answer it.
“Yes, Steven?”
A soft, elderly voice replies; the voice of Steven, the concierge ofAlexandria Heights. An arcanist skilled in telepathic magic, Steven had stopped many stalkers and ill-intentioned ex-lovers from sneaking into the building. Their thoughts, he often said, were loud and frantic—easy to spot. He was also an all-around pleasant man, and quite the looker in his prime.
“I have another applicant at the front desk for you, Mr. Nocturne. A Mr. Hakeem Al-Najim.”
“Send him up, thank you, Steven.”
One more for today. That’s all Jackson has to get through. Maybe this one won’t be awful.
He is far from hopeful.
Chapter 7
Hakeem can’t believe his eyes, Alexandria Heights is grander than he had imagined. He didn’t often come to this side of town, too rich for his blood. He would often join Charlie for walks through Wychwood park in the spring, an excuse to visit the nice bakeries in the area. He has seen the building in passing, but Alexandria Heights is something else entirely from up close. It tears through the skyline of Solomon City, a glamorous giant towering over the metropolitan landscape. Built of white stone and lined with seemingly endless windows.
The interior of the lobby is lush, marble pillars lining its hall. Full bodied plants of lush greens, in pots of gilded ceramic, a crystal chandelier that lights the whole room in a warm halo of light. There’s even a fountain in the middle of the lobby, indoors. That was extravagance like Hakeem had only seen in the luxury hotels in movies and on TV.
Hakeem makes his way to the concierge desk, feeling extremely out of place, and goes up to the older gentleman who looks him over from behind his half moon spectacles. “Good afternoon, my name is Hakeem Al-Najim. Sorry to interrupt but I believe I have an apartment showing here today? I have the email if you need to see it.”
The older man pushes his glasses back into place at the bridge of his nose–Hakeem fixing his own pair in a nervous tick–holds up a hand. “That won’t be necessary, sir. The Nocturne group has sent a list of applicants inadvance, I just need to see some identification.”
Hakeem shuffles through his messenger bag and pulls out his mage license and hands it to the man behind the desk. “Will this work?
“It shall do nicely, sir.”
The gentleman behind the desk takes Hakeem’s card and scans it under the desk. Offering Hakeem a polite smile he returns the I.D. “All seems to be in order, Mr. Al-Najim. Just a moment while I ring Mr. Nocturne.”
He holds up a finger to Hakeem while he picks up a phone. A voice comes through the line from the other side. It catches Hakeem’s attention, drawing his focus like a moth to a flame. It causes a moment of confusion before he shakes himself out of it.
“Yes, Steven?”
“I have another applicant at the front desk here for you, a Mr. Hakeem Al-Najim.”
“Send him up, thank you, Steven.”
