I live with vampires and werewolves, did I mention they're all guys? (+ Sequel)

A Second Chance, To Run - Ch.8 (Sequel-Emma & Johnny's Story) *In Progress*

*Hope you guys enjoy :D Please let me know!*

Chapter 8

Alistair knocked urgently on the door to the old fashioned bookstore. The sign hanging on the other side of the glass read closed but Carlos had informed them that the Warlock lived above his store.

Emma stood beside Damon who was holding Johnny in his arms. Her brother had stopped twisting and moaning during the half an hour car journey and was now lying as silent and limp as death.

The address Carlos had given them had taken them to a small town and down a side street lined with quirky and old shops. If they hadn’t known it was there then they probably would have walked straight past it. Thankfully, to all their relief, the narrow street was disserted. It had started to rain likely and the people who dashed past the mouth of the street all kept their heads bowed against the weather.

For the second time, Alistair knocked loudly on the wooden frame of the door and called out, “hello, is anyone in there?”

Still there was no movement from inside and Emma began to feel despair flooding her. She wished with everything she had that her parents were here – they would know what to do.

Emma pushed past Alistair to the door and hammered on it with her fist, “please, help us, my brother is dying!” Tears had begun to rolling down her cheeks, “we were told you are the only one who could help him! Please, we’re begging you!”

“He’s just a kid!” Alistair added desperately on the end of Emma’s plea.

Damon looked down at the pitiful sight of his nephew in his arms.

Emma turned her back on the door and looked around, lost and with no other options to exhaust.

“P-perhaps we should phone Carlos again –“ Alistair began weakly, but he broke off sharply as the unmistakable sound of a key being turned in a lock came from behind him.

Spinning back around, Emma’s heart leapt as the door was pulled open and a man dressed in brown cord trousers and a white t-shirt was revealed.

His face was ageless – he could have been in his sixties or his thirties – his eyes were deep set and blue and mouth a thin, tight line. The man was short too, shorter than Emma and his brown hair just skimmed his shoulders in length.

Emma did not know what she had been expecting a warlock to look like – perhaps elderly with a long white beard and wearing wizard robes like those from Harry Potter – but the man standing before her came as a complete surprise. His eyes moved over them unhurriedly, resting on Johnny’s limp form in Damon’s arms.

“Are you the warlock?” Alistair blurted, eyes wild, “can you help him, please, he’s been poisoned!”

For a moment, Emma thought the man was going to close the door in their faces. But then he nodded and said gruffly, “come in, quickly.”

They all piled into the small hallway, most of the space having already been taken up by a huge, thick-wooded coat stand.

Emma glanced down the long, narrow hallway and saw doors lining the walls and at the far end a rickety spiralling wooden staircase. There was a small cupboard under the stairs and in front of it sat a wicker dog basket, the dog was nowhere to be seen.

The place smelt strongly of old paper, shoe polish and extinguished matches – though it gave off a feel of haphazardness, it also felt welcoming in an old-fashioned, promising kind of way. The hairs on the back of Emma’s neck stood on end as she let her heightened senses explore the place – she felt like she had been here before, though she knew she never had.