The sun filtered through the few remaining leaves on the trees as Kurt Hummel strolled down Main Street towards his shop. He shifted his pumpkin-spice latte from one hand to the other as he fished out his keys to open up for the day. He couldn't believe he'd given in and tried the kitschy drink that everyone talked about this time of year, but once he had, he was begrudgingly hooked. If he didn't know better, he'd swear there was a spell cast on the drink, but he did know better.
After all, what kind of witch would he be if he couldn't recognize a simple enchantment like that?
Finally working the key in the lock, he pushed the heavy wood and leaded-glass door open, smiling at the sound of the little silver bell over the door as it rang. His mother had put that bell in when she ran the store, and Kurt was proud to carry on the family traditions. She'd been taken from this world to the next far too young, but Kurt remembered her clearly. Her loves had been music and books, and both passions were well-represented in the son who so closely resembled her.
Kurt flipped the light switch near the door and pulled up the shade on the picture window next to it, bathing the space in light. Crossing the hardwood floors, his knee-high boots clicked softly, alerting the store's inhabitant to his arrival.
"Good morning," Kurt chirped, reaching down to scratch behind the ears of the jet-black cat before him. She purred briefly, then stopped herself abruptly. "You are so difficult sometimes," Kurt sighed, putting his latte on the counter and slipping off his McQueen jacket, leaving him in a white button-down and black skinny jeans with a turquoise scarf draped around his neck. "It won't kill you to show a little affection now and again." The cat simply sat at his feet, staring up at him almost defiantly. "Have it your way," Kurt acquiesced, shaking his head when the feline slowly rose and walked over to her pillow on a nearby shelf that happened to catch the morning sun this time of year.
Glancing at the antique grandfather clock in the corner, Kurt busied himself with a few business tasks to get the day started. There were ways – magical ways – that he could use to get much of the work done, he knew. In all honesty, he didn't have to work at all if he didn't want to. He knew others of his kind who thought that engaging in such menial, mortal endeavors was beneath them, and who spent their time honing their skills, researching new methods, or, worse yet, living lives of pleasure, taking what they could from the mortal world without any respect or regard for the lives involved.
Kurt, however, found a peace in the simplicity of this life. That wasn't to say he'd turned his back on his nature. He still found ways to exercise his abilities, but usually in a way that could be easily passed off as a coincidence or a happy accident, and always in a positive manner.
So, he happily ran his bookstore, specializing in rare and old volumes, but also carrying enough contemporary content to keep the masses interested. He reckoned that his was the only store that housed both an ancient tome on spellcasting and the entire Harry Potter series. The former was kept in a hidden room for his "special" clientele; and the latter was more prominently displayed on the main sales floor.
The ringing of the little silver bell brought Kurt's attention to his first customer of the day. He expected it would be Miss Pillsbury coming in to buy a few self-help books while surreptitiously slipping a romance novel into her basket as if Kurt wouldn't see it when he rang up her purchases.
"Good m-morning," he called out, stumbling over the second word as he raised his head and caught sight of his customer, who was definitely not Miss Pillsbury.
The handsome young gentleman who had just come through the door was positively stunning. In an instant, Kurt took in his appearance, from his dark curly hair and curiously attractive triangular eyebrows to his sparkling eyes and strong jawline. He was wearing a well-fitted navy peacoat open at the collar to reveal a striped bowtie, along with slim maroon trousers that were just of a length to reveal that he wasn't wearing socks in his dress shoes. He adjusted the strap of his leather messenger bag across his broad chest as he looked up to meet Kurt's greeting.
"Hi there," he replied in a smooth voice that Kurt was sure he'd want to hear more of.
The young man walked over towards the counter. Kurt quickly gained control of himself and smiled as he remembered he was at work. "Welcome to Spellbound. I'm Kurt."
The customer looked around the store appreciatively as he approached, his eyes wandering from the high wooden shelves to the small spiral staircase in the corner and back over to the large wood and marble counter behind which Kurt stood. Everything in the store was vintage, reclaimed from various libraries and bookshops across the country. It was a point of pride for Kurt, and he always loved when new customers came in and noticed.
"I'm Blaine Anderson," the gentleman said, extending a hand to Kurt, which he took. "Wow, this place is amazing," he gushed. "Spellbound, huh? That's an interesting name for a bookshop."
"Well," Kurt answered, reluctantly giving Blaine his hand back, "I've always thought that books captivate the imagination in a way that few other things in this world can. It's almost…magical," he said, giggling inside at his private joke. Blaine nodded in assent. "Plus," Kurt added, "worst case scenario, I can just stock a whole bunch of dictionaries."
Kurt mentally kicked himself for his silly joke, but Blaine laughed aloud immediately. "It's good to have a backup plan, I always say," Blaine retorted, giving a conspiratorial wink.
"So, Blaine Anderson, to what do I owe the pleasure of a visit from our humble town's newest resident?" Kurt asked.
Blaine furrowed his brow and looked taken aback. "How – how did you know I was a new resident?" he inquired hesitantly.
Kurt grinned warmly in response. "It's not that big of a leap. You see, this is a pretty small town, and I've lived here, well, forever, so I know just about everyone around. Plus, my friend Rachel, who is a voice instructor over at the university, said a new music professor was starting this week, and that she'd recommended our little burg to him as an alternative to "college town life," as she calls it. You seemed to fit the bill, so I took a guess."
"Wow, you're like a detective or something," Blaine laughed, and Kurt could see now that his eyes were a mesmerizing swirl of golden brown that he hadn't ever seen.
"Or something," Kurt answered with a tilt of his head. "Now, I'm thinking you aren't here to buy a book, am I right?"
"Two for two. Impressive. I actually just wanted to introduce myself to some of the local music stores to see if I could drum up a little business." He colored slightly, and Kurt smiled encouragingly so that he would continue. "I'm, uh, I'm only part-time at the university right now, since I'm coming in mid-semester, so I was hoping to supplement my income a bit by offering piano lessons. I heard that you sell sheet music here as well as books, so I thought that if you wouldn't mind, I could leave a few flyers here for your customers?"
The hopeful look on Blaine's face was almost more that Kurt could take. He schooled his features so as not to laugh, and eyed him speculatively. "Hmm," he hummed, tapping his chin with a slender finger. "Well, students taking lessons would need sheet music, so I suppose it could be a mutually advantageous arrangement," Kurt mused. "Would you like a coffee?"
Blaine blinked rapidly at the abrupt change in subject. "A – a coffee? Um, sure, I guess?"
Kurt bent down to reach underneath the counter, making a slight hand movement out of Blaine's sight. "I stopped on my way in and they were having a special. I couldn't decide, so I got two, but I don't think I'll be able to drink the second one after all. Here, it's still hot," he said, rising with two cups from the nearby coffee shop in hand. He took a sip from his pumpkin-spice latte and then handed over the other cup. "It's nothing fancy, just a medium drip," he said.
Blaine smiled and accepted the cup, offering his thanks, then took a sip. "Mmm," he groaned, letting his eyes slip closed in appreciation. "This is amazing, and just the way I usually take it!"
"Oh, good, I'm glad," Kurt responded lightly. His fingers tingled slightly from where they'd brushed Blaine's as he handed over the cup, but he pushed that aside. "So, I believe we were discussing flyers," he said before taking another sip.
"Huh?" Blaine muttered, then quickly went on, "Oh, yes. Flyers."
"Well, you can't ask me to recommend your services when I have no idea of your credentials, now can you?" Kurt asked, arching his brow but allowing the corner of his mouth to lift just enough to let Blaine know he was being playful.
"Of course, of course," Blaine said. "Well, I studied at Julliard and NYU. I have a bachelor's in music theory and piano and my master's…"
A gentle hand came to rest on Blaine's arm and he stopped mid-sentence. "I have no doubt you're well-educated, Blaine," Kurt interrupted. "I was hoping for a more…practical demonstration," he continued, walking around the counter and coming to stand beside Blaine. "Would you mind?" he said, glancing across the room behind his visitor.
The young professor turned around, his eyes falling upon a beautiful upright Steinway nestled between the shelves. He wasn't sure how he'd missed it when he walked in. Turning back to Kurt, he found the shopkeeper smiling softly. "It was my mother's," he offered in explanation.
Blaine tilted his head slightly, not missing Kurt's use of the past tense. He slipped the messenger bag strap over his head and placed the bag on the counter. "I'd be honored," he said quietly, touching Kurt briefly on the elbow then walking over to the instrument and settling on the bench with his back to the piano, facing Kurt.
"Any requests?" he asked, rubbing his hands together lightly and flexing his strong fingers.
Kurt glanced upwards as if in thought, then back at his guest. "Play whatever the spirits move you to play," he answered cryptically.
Blaine regarded him for a moment, and then a slow smile crossed his face as he spun on the bench and began to play a gentle melody, maneuvering along the keys with a practiced ease. After a few introductory bars, he began to sing.
I'm wild again
Beguiled again
A simpering, whimpering child again
Bewitched, bothered and bewildered am I
Couldn't sleep
And wouldn't sleep
Until I could sleep where I shouldn't sleep
Bewitched, bothered and bewildered am I
Lost my heart but what of it?
My mistake I agree.
He's a laugh, but I like it
Because the laugh's on me.
A pill he is
But still he is
All mine and I'll keep him until he is
Bewitched, bothered and bewildered
Like me.
He brought the song to a close and turned back around to seek Kurt's reaction.
Kurt, for his part, was stunned into silence. Blaine's playing was amazing. His voice – the only word Kurt could think of was magical, and that wasn't an adjective he threw around thoughtlessly. But beyond that – beyond the silky voice and the flawlessly elegant yet somehow seemingly improvised playing, one question boggled Kurt above all others.
"Why did you choose that song?" The words slipped out unbidden, without thought of the consequence of the answer.
Blaine huffed out a laugh, rising from the bench to rejoin his audience of one. "You said to play what the spirits moved me to play, and then I looked up and saw…"
Kurt's heart skipped a nervous beat, terrified that Blaine had somehow learned his secret, until he realized Blaine wasn't looking at him. He was looking over Kurt's shoulder at a small framed sign that hung prominently behind the counter. It was an artistic rendering of the shop's name. The letters were done in a swirling silver script on a midnight blue background, with flickers of starlight on some of the letters and a sliver of moon in the corner.
"It just seemed…right," Blaine murmured quietly.
Kurt turned back to him and smiled once again, thinking that no truer words had been spoken. It just seemed right.
They locked eyes for a few seconds longer than strangers normally would. Kurt opened his mouth to speak, not entirely sure what he was going to say, when Blaine startled and looked down.
"Oh, hello," he said, stepping aside slightly as the black cat brushed against his pant leg.
"Ah, you've gained the attention of Santana," Kurt cooed, both grateful for and frustrated by the interruption. He swiftly crouched down to pick up the meddling feline.
"Hello, Santana," Blaine greeted the cat. He raised his hand to pet her, then paused, seeking permission. "Is she friendly?" he asked.
Kurt gave a short laugh that was almost a snort. "I don't think "friendly" is a word too many would use to describe Santana, here, but she won't hurt you," he said, then, addressing the cat sternly and directly, added, "will you, Santana?"
The cat made a soft mewling sound and turned her head toward Kurt with a pointed look.
"Did…did she just…" Blaine stammered, looking from the cat to her owner and back again.
"Did she what?" Kurt asked innocently.
"I know it's crazy, but I…I swear she just rolled her eyes. Cats can't roll their eyes, though," Blaine stated firmly, as if trying to convince himself. "Can they?" he nearly whispered.
"Of course not," Kurt reassured him. "Just a trick of the light, I'm sure. Santana must like you if she came over in person," he went on, seeming to change the subject once more.
Blaine still eyed the cat warily, but continued the conversation. "That's an unusual name for a cat," he commented.
"Well," Kurt answered, putting the now squirmy creature back down on the floor, "it's the name she came with."
"Aw, a rescue kitty, huh?"
Santana, who had been sashaying back towards her pillow, stopped dead in her tracks and looked backwards over her shoulder at the two men.
"Something like that," Kurt said, making a nearly imperceptible head movement to signal the cat, who turned back around and leapt upon her cushion again. She clawed at it once or twice, then settled down with one last meow of protestation.
A sudden chime from the grandfather clock stole Blaine's attention. He checked his own wristwatch and looked up apologetically. "I'm sorry, but I really must be going," he said, retrieving his messenger bag from the counter and slipping the strap across his body once more.
"It was lovely to meet you," Kurt replied, offering his hand this time and shaking Blaine's warmly when it was accepted. "You're welcome any time."
Blaine gave him another heart-stopping smile, holding Kurt's hand longer than necessary and giving it a small, but not crushing, squeeze before releasing it. Kurt instantly missed the contact, but relished the tingle it left behind. "Thanks. I've got a class to get to, but I'll be back. Soon." He picked up his coffee from the counter, raised it in gratitude, and was gone.
Kurt looked at the door after it had closed behind Blaine and sighed. It had been a long time since he'd felt like this, even if he wasn't sure what "this" was. Love had never come easily into Kurt's life. It was difficult being someone who had to hide a part of himself from the world, but that was part of the sacrifice he'd made when he decided to live among the mortals. Were there magical ways to have gotten around his problem? Sure, plenty. But Kurt had never been inclined to try. For one thing, he'd seen others do it, and it never ended well. How could it? Love was the purest of all powers in the universe, and any attempt to manipulate it could only end in disaster.
Besides which, call him a romantic, but Kurt desperately wanted someone to love him for himself, of their own free will. No spells, no tricks or potions – just real, true, normal love.
Santana meowed near his ear, having moved again and perched herself on the edge of the counter.
"I know, I know, just mind your own business," Kurt grumbled, going back behind the counter to resume his work. "And could you watch the eyes around customers, please?" he added. Santana just rolled her eyes harder and swished closer to Kurt on the counter.
"No, I'm not going to cast anything," he said to the cat. She meowed, but he cut her off. "You know why," he snapped. "I've told you a million times that…"
The chiming of the bell over the door halted him mid-speech. Looking up sharply at the door, he smiled broadly. "You said you'd be back soon, but this is ridiculous," he quipped.
"Sorry," Blaine apologized, walking quickly over to the counter holding a stack of papers in his outstretched hand. "In my haste to leave, I forgot to give you these," he said, indicating the flyers for his piano lessons.
"Of course," Kurt answered, feeling a little deflated. "I'll be happy to put them right here for you." He shoved Santana over a bit and placed the stack neatly on the corner.
"Thanks again. I really do have to run. It wouldn't do for me to be late on my first day, now would it? Have a great day, Kurt!" he exclaimed as he slipped out the door again.
Kurt felt his heart drop. Of course, Blaine wasn't interested in him. It was just business.
The bell dinged once more as the door opened slightly. "Oh, and Kurt?" Blaine called as he poked his head back through the door. "The top flyer is for you. In case you want lessons, or if I can repay you that coffee, or…you know, maybe dinner or something," he said. His tone was almost shy, but he gave Kurt a wink before disappearing and rushing down the street.
Kurt looked down at the stack of flyers and picked up the top one. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary until he turned it over. "I don't think it's just the books that are spellbinding," the note said, followed by a phone number.
Kurt couldn't help jumping up and down a little and cheering. "Do you see that, Santana?" he cried, holding up the paper in front of the eyes of the midnight-colored animal. "Hmm, maybe I'll have to get myself some piano lessons," he laughed. The cat meowed loudly, but nuzzled her head against his hand in an unusual display of friendliness. "Yes, I know I had lessons when I was young, but that was like," he glanced upwards and did some quick math, "one hundred and eighty-three years ago. I think I'm due for a refresher, at least," he said, picking up the cat and cuddling her close for a minute until she whined to be released.
Humming happily, he waved a hand toward the piano, which began to play the same melody Blaine had played earlier. Santana purred contentedly as Kurt sang softly, enjoying an autumn morning as he hadn't in a long time.
Bewitched, bothered and bewildered, am I…
A/N: Okay, so this started with the title and the idea of Kurt being a witch (I don't know why I like "witch" better than "warlock" but I do) owning a bookstore. After that, I had nothing. While doing odd chores all day, the story started to flesh itself out in my head, and I couldn't wait to sit down and write it. The song is "Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered" – an old Rodgers and Hart standard covered by everyone from Ella Fitzgerald to Frank Sinatra to Linda Rondstadt to Rod Stewart and Cher. Hope you enjoyed my little early Halloween present!