Chapter 6 – Hold the Door
Rowan had just managed to herd everyone into the main shop.
He flipped the sign to OPEN, because technically it was past ten and Ms. Hecate would eventually notice if he never opened again.
The four women arranged themselves like they were posing for the world's most dangerous girl-group album cover:
Seraphina perched on the counter, legs swinging, red eyes glowing softly like she'd swallowed a night-light.
Human Mila stood behind the register "helping" (mostly sniffing every coin that came in).
Wolf-mode Mila (still refusing pants) sprawled across the velvet couch that customers usually napped on.
Kagerou sat cross-legged on top of a ladder, nine tails draped down like the world's fluffiest curtain.
Rowan was restocking incense when the front door simply stopped existing for half a second.
A woman stepped through the empty space like the shop had rolled out a red carpet made of physics.
She was tall, blonde, and looked like someone had taken "ethereal" and turned it up to eleven. White silk blouse, riding pants, boots that probably cost more than Rowan's rent. A living crown of ivy and tiny white flowers sat in her hair like it had grown there.
Rowan glanced up. "Morning! We're open, kinda. Let me know if you need help finding anything."
The woman ignored the four glaring supernatural disasters and looked straight at Rowan.
"I need the door to Avalon," she said, voice like wind through a cathedral. "It's here. Open it. Now."
Rowan blinked. "Avalon… like the Glastonbury festival? We don't sell tickets, sorry."
The woman's eyes narrowed. The ivy crown sprouted thorns. "I am Isolde le Fey. Avalon is dying. The door is in this shop. Stand aside."
Rowan scratched his cheek. "Pretty sure we don't have a door labeled 'Avalon.' We've got the bathroom, the back room, and the emergency exit that only opens if you sweet-talk it. That's it."
Isolde strode past the counter like she owned the place. The girls tracked her with murder in their eyes.
Rowan followed because customers weren't supposed to go in the back alone (something about liability and cursed paperweights).
In the storage room, a plain wooden door now stood where yesterday there had definitely been blank wall.
It looked ancient. No handle on this side. Just a brass knob and wood that smelled like apples and regret.
Isolde raised both hands. Green fire crawled over her skin. She started chanting in a language that made the overhead bulb flicker and the boxes sweat.
The door began to rot away in pieces, but every time a chunk dissolved, new wood grew back faster. Isolde's face went pale. A bead of sweat slid down her temple.
Rowan watched for ten seconds.
"You, uh… need a crowbar or something?" he asked.
Isolde didn't answer. She was losing. The door was winning.
Rowan had a box of dragon's-blood incense in one hand and needed to put it on the shelf behind the door. The door was in the way.
He reached past Isolde, grabbed the knob, and tugged.
"Hold the door for me, would you?" he asked the air.
The door opened.
Not dramatically. No light show. It just swung inward like it had been waiting for him to ask nicely.
Beyond it: a golden sunset that never ended, floating castles, rivers running upward into the sky, the whole fairy-tale package.
Isolde's chant died mid-syllable. The green fire on her hands winked out.
Rowan leaned through, set the incense box on a shelf that definitely hadn't existed five seconds ago, then stepped back.
"There we go. All better."
He started to close the door.
Isolde dropped to her knees so fast her boots cracked the floorboards.
She pressed her forehead to the wood in front of his sneakers.
"My true name is Isolde Ygrainne Nimue le Fey," she whispered, voice shaking. "I offer it freely. Command me until the stars burn out."
Rowan looked down at the fairy princess currently bowing like he was the final boss of chivalry.
"Uh… you don't have to kneel on the dirty floor, dude. It's gross back here."
He offered her a hand up.
Isolde took it. The moment their fingers touched, every dying tree in Avalon bloomed at once. Somewhere far away, a sword in a stone slid free and politely waited for further instructions.
She stood, eyes shining, ivy crown now blooming tiny white roses.
Rowan let go and scratched his head. "So… you good? Door works now?"
Isolde nodded once, reverent.
"Cool." He shut the door. It vanished, leaving blank wall and the faint smell of apples.
He turned to find five women staring at him:
Seraphina looked like she'd swallowed a lemon made of murder.
Both Milas were growling in stereo.
Kagerou's tails had fluffed to maximum threat level.
Isolde looked ready to build a shrine on the spot.
Rowan yawned.
"Right. New rule: no kneeling in the storage room. Also, who wants lunch? I've got coupons for the dumpling place."
Five voices answered instantly:
"Whatever you want, Rowan."
He sighed. "Stop doing that. It's creepy."
They all smiled identical, smitten smiles.
Rowan decided the shop could stay open for exactly one more hour before he declared mental health day.
He had no idea he'd just saved an entire dimension by moving a box of incense.
He just wanted dumplings.
And maybe a nap.
Preferably before anyone else fell out of a wall.