Quentin blinked. He took in his surroundings with nervous eyes. A stack of coffee mugs and beans packed by the pound on his left. Cakes and scones and muffins tucked behind a glass display on his right. The din of voices at his back.

None of it familiar at all.

"Your order."

Quentin looked up. A sour-faced barista stared back, unimpressed.

"I'll, umm... I'll have t-the macchiato?"

The barista cocked an eyebrow. "Are you asking me?"

"Erm, no?"

Another long look. Heat crept up Quentin's cheeks.

"Make that double, would you, sweetheart?"

Quentin's head snapped toward the voice. A man stood in line next to him. Quentin was certain he hadn't been there a moment ago - he would've remembered the vest, not to mention the fucking cravat. The man caught Quentin's eyes and winked.

"Names?"

"Eliot Waugh. Waugh with a W, not a V. And..." Eliot trailed off with a meaningful glance Quentin's way.

"Um- Quentin."

"That's 10.50."

Eliot had his wallet in hand and was sliding a twenty across the counter before Quentin could even pat down his pockets. Quentin looked on, vaguely horrified. By the time he untangled his tongue enough to say anything, the receipt was already printing.

"You didn't - why did you-"

Eliot grabbed Quentin's arm and cheerfully led him to the pick-up station. "Can't a friend do something nice for a friend?"

"We aren't friends," Quentin spluttered. "I don't even know you!"

A strange look passed over Eliot's face. "Yes. Well, we can certainly remedy that."

Quentin shook his head, bemused.

Eliot handed Quentin his coffee. He frowned at his own cup, then sighed and turned it so Quentin could see the writing on the side.

'Eliot Vaugh

--Sweatheart'

Quentin laughed. Eliot rolled his eyes.

"Well, um - thanks. For." Quentin nodded to the cup in his hand. He turned to go.

"Are you here with someone?" Eliot asked.

"I..." Quentin looked around. He spotted Julia at a table by the floor to ceiling windows that wrapped around the store. "Yeah. My friend. You're...um. You can join us. If you want."

"That's alright," Eliot was looking at Julia, too. "I'll catch you later, Q."

Eliot retreated to a table on the other side of the cafe. The gorgeous brunette sitting there looked from Eliot to Quentin. Quentin quickly turned away.

"Hey."

Julia nodded. She had her phone in her hands and barely glanced up when Quentin slid into the seat across from her. The fifth Fillory book sat at her elbow. Quentin pulled the book over to his side of the table. It had been his favorite in the series, but after reading the sixth-

Quentin frowned. There were only five Fillory books. He took a sip from his coffee.

"I think I just got hit on."

"Mm."

"By a guy."

"That's nice."

Quentin watched Julia tap at her phone. His gaze slid over her shoulder. A large, white moth was crawling on the other side of the window. The splash of gray at the center of its folded wings made it look like a disembodied eye.

"Look, I have to go."

Julia pushed away from the table. She shrugged her coat on and grabbed her bag, eyes still on her phone.

"James?" Quentin tried not to sound too bitter.

"What? Oh, yeah. See you later, okay?"

Julia waved once. Quentin watched her go, mouth tight. He'd seen them again - the cut on Julia's arm, the tattoo right above it. That's what he had meant to talk to her about, why he was at the damn Atticus in the first place. He'd gone and spazzed out instead.

Way to go, loser.

Quentin pushed his coffee away. The window faced the street. Julia was already at the crosswalk, waiting for the light to turn green.

The moth had acquired friends. Quentin counted three, then four, then five. Their spotted wings fluttered gently.

Julia was gone when Quentin looked again. A familiar brunette stood where she had been. Quentin glanced over his shoulder. Sure enough, Eliot was alone at his table.

Looking right at Quentin.

Quentin turned away. His fingers tapped nervously at the table. The moths bumped against the window in front of him - ten, twenty of them. The sound of their small bodies hitting the glass filled Quentin's ears. Thump-thump-thump.

Let me in, let me in, let me in.

Quentin reached forward. He pressed his hand over the glass, palm flat.

The moths stilled.

A breath later, the window shattered with a deafening screech.

Quentin fell back. His chair had tipped over, sending him crashing to the floor. Quentin barely felt it happen. Glass moths covered the ceiling - hundreds, thousands of them. Their wings clacked together, like snapping teeth. They hovered over Quentin's prone body. Any moment, they would descend. Any moment-

"Tempest rest cirrectum!"

A powerful gust of wind wailed through the room. It scattered the glass cloud, sending moths barreling back into the walls and ceiling.

There were hands on Quentin's shoulders. Quentin let himself be pulled up, turned around, pushed toward the back of the store. Bodies surged against them. People screamed.

"What-"

"Really not the time, Quentin!"

Eliot raised his arms and pushed outward with his hands. Wind rushed around them, tunneling toward the far wall. It pushed a good half of the moths back. The rest descended sharply, swarming a table. There were screams coming from there, too. The overhead lights glinted off the moths' wings.

When the horde lifted, the table was empty. Quentin stared at the pile of bones and dust that spilled over the upturned chairs. He couldn't breathe.

"-tin! Quentin!"

Eliot was pulling him back. There was an exit behind them, so very close.

"We can't run."

"We have to. Much as I hate to say this -" Eliot curved his hands. A table flipped to smash high up against a wall, crushing several dozen crystal insects. "- I can't hold them off alone. We have to get help."

"We can't run, Eliot! We can't let them out into the city!"

"Tempest - oh, shit!" Eliot pulled Quentin behind a fallen bookshelf. Something whistled in the air above them. Shards of glass struck the wall at their back.

Eliot's hands were shaking. The man's eyes had glazed slightly, shining too-bright in the dim store. There were no more screams, no other people. Only the sharp tinkling of glass.

"Quentin."

Quentin stiffened. He peered over the edge of the bookshelf. A tornado made of glass twisted at the center of the room.

Within it stood a human shadow.

"Quentin Coldwater."

"You still want to stay?" Eliot muttered.

Quentin shook his head. "Fuck. Shit, fuck."

"Yes, all of that. So, what's the plan here?"

Quentin threw Eliot a wild-eyed look. "You're asking me?"

"You have magic too." Eliot smiled. "Yer a wizard, Quentin."

"Quentin Coldwater. There you are."

Quentin watched the moths. They were moving faster and faster, spinning into a glass cocoon. The shadow within it grew more defined with every passing second. Quentin was reminded of his old deck of cards - of arranging the cards one atop the other, piece after piece coming together to form a single whole.

"Can you do the wind thing again?"

"Yes." Eliot pushed to his knees. He looked out over the bookshelf and winced. "Not sure it will do any good at this point."

"Just - trust me."

Quentin stood up and stepped over the bookshelf. Eliot's frantic voice was lost under a sudden surge of noise. Sharp clacking and low, nasal laughter. Quentin felt it under his skin.

He felt them.

"Ready?" he called out.

"Fuck you, Coldwater. Yes!"

Quentin took a deep breath. He closed his eyes and thought of the cards, imagined a tall castle built from four suits of brittle paper.

Quentin lifted his hand, and pushed.

The cocoon broke with a ringing shriek. The shadow within it fractured to stain a thousand glass bodies.

Quentin could feel each one.

"Now!"

Eliot shouted. Wind rose again, but this time it did not scatter the moths - it pushed them back with purpose, guided by Quentin's will. The insects crowded closer and closer as they went. Their wings overlapped and flattened and merged. By the time they reached the empty windowpane, they were a solid sheet of glass once again. Quentin pressed one last time. The castle in his mind collapsed.

The window was whole.

Quentin slid down to sit on the floor.

"That, my friend, was not what I meant when I promised to add sparkle to your life." Eliot laughed, giddy with relief.

Quentin pressed his forehead to his knees. "He's gone," he mumbled. "Is he gone?"

"Looks like it. Come on."

Quentin shook his head. He let Eliot pull him up.

A white moth bumped against the window.

Until you let me in again.

You always do.

---

Word count: 1483