“Yeah. I need to have Mr. Tom talk Edgar back a bit.”
“Why didn’t you just mention something back there?”
“Every time he messes up, he asks me to kill him. I don’t want to send him into another existential crisis.”
“Jesus,” Austin murmured, and his tone made giggles dance up through me.
“Anyway, what do you need?”
He stopped on the porch and looked out over the street, the late afternoon sun trickling down through the maple trees and speckling the sidewalk. “Do you have a couple of hours?”
“A couple of hours?” I checked my watch, three o’clock, then looked back at the closed front door. “Well, given I have no job other than learning magic and monitoring the gardening of a partially insane vampire, I do happen to have some free time, yes. Especially since we agreed to take a couple of days off from training so you can heal.” I chewed on my lip, guilt worming through me again. “How are you doing, by the way?”
He waved the question away. “There is nothing partial about that vampire’s insanity.” Austin jerked his head toward the house. “Do you need to tell your entourage?”
“Will we be in town?”
“Yes.”
“Then nah, I’m good with just you and whatever shifters of yours pop out of the woodwork. Let’s see if they can find me.”
“I don’t have anyone official yet.” He reached out to put his hand on the small of my back, ready to direct me. “But yeah, we’ll be good.”
The door opened slowly to reveal Mr. Tom, his tuxedo-clad chest puffed out, his pants freshly pressed, and his wings falling down his back like a cape. One hand balanced a silver tray bearing a single white envelope, and the other was fisted by his side.
“Miss. Before you leave without proper protection, putting yourself in potentially grave danger, I have a piece of post for you,” he said.
My expression flattened. I felt it. “Were you listening to our conversation at the door, Mr. Tom?”
“From the front room window, actually. It is the easiest way to know what you are up to without having to ask.”
Austin was staring again. I had a feeling this was not the way he planned to run his pack.
“I’ll grab it when I get back.” I motioned Austin down the walkway.
“I think you’ll want to read it, miss. It’s from your mother. She wants to come visit.”
I froze, only one step having been taken. “What do you mean she wants to come visit? How— Did you read my mail?”
“What an amazing singing range you must have, miss, with the vocal pitch of that last question.” Mr. Tom sniffed. “I merely scanned the contents to ensure it was not a death threat. After that note from Elliot Graves, I thought it best to start monitoring your mail to ensure none of the messages posed an immediate danger. Magical people can be unhinged…”
“He would know,” Austin murmured.
“I also feared a bill or request for money might arrive and go ignored. Sometimes our past lives can come back to haunt us. Since you seem pretty hands-off about monetary matters…”
I dropped my mouth open, about to explode. Hands-off? I always tried to pay for things, but whenever Mr. Tom was around, and he was always around, he would literally push me aside in his haste to take care of the tab. I had no idea what kind of money was available to the estate because he refused to show me any statements or give me access to the bank accounts that were now supposedly mine, simply telling me the estate paid for itself. I wasn’t sure what sort of hands-on approach would get me any further.
I swallowed down my annoyance and reached for the envelope. I didn’t feel like getting into it with him in front of Austin. “No, Mr. Tom, I don’t have any creditors looking to get paid,” I said dryly.
“Fantastic, miss. But you do have two parents who wish to see what you are up to. I shall roll out the red carpet.”
I’d barely lifted the letter from the tray when he turned back into the house and closed the door behind him, not responding to my shouted denial that they were coming.
“Oh, and miss…” Mr. Tom stuck his head out of the door again. “They’ll be staying a week, or maybe two. Their toilet broke and flooded part of the house. Your mother launched into a rant about the lack of fiber in your father’s diet, but you can read that yourself. They are scheduled to get here in three days’ time. I’ll pick up the essentials. Have fun. I’ll alert those on bodyguard detail that you’re leaving.”
The door closed again with a soft click.
My parents were coming.
My non-magical parents were coming to a magical house.
How the hell was I supposed to keep what I was a secret?
Two
“Do your parents usually write letters to communicate instead of calling?” Austin asked as we set out toward town.
I’d skimmed the letter, shaken my head at the detailed fiber assessment, and stuffed it into my back pocket. Mr. Tom had gotten the details correct. They were definitely coming. The letter had been more of a statement of intent than a request.
“Here…” Niamh sat forward in her porch rocking chair as we passed, her thumb and forefinger curled around a rock. “What are ye at?”
“Headed into town,” Austin called.
She leaned back and continued rocking. “Let me know when ye head to the bar.”
The prospect of my parents’ upcoming visit had sent my thoughts into a downward spiral, and when I turned and looked back at Ivy House, I tried to see it as they would. An unnatural, heavy shadow fell over the massive structure, just like always, and light perpetually glowed from the top window in the attic even though that light was never on. Before my parents even got to the house, the judgments would start. I could just hear them now.
“Honey, why did you choose such a gloomy house?” my mother would ask, looking up at it.
“It’s fine,” my father would say. “The paint is the problem. You need a new coat of paint, Jessie. Maybe an off-white. You should’ve stained it, but that ship has sailed.”
“Paint wouldn’t do it, Pete. It’s just so…dark…” my mom would reply.
That would start them arguing about the best way to fix what wasn’t actually broken. As if they didn’t live in a house of horrors filled with dozens of unfinished projects, including a partial coat of turd-brown paint near the stairs.
“They do write letters instead of calling, yes,” I said, belatedly remembering that Austin had asked a question. “But only when they want to make it impossible for me to turn them down. My mom typically times it so the letter arrives the day before they do. If I try to cancel, she gives me a guilt trip about how she’s already planned her whole life around this thing, and if I couldn’t do it, why did I wait until the last minute to let her know? The whole situation used to drive Matt nuts. Matt’s the ex.”
He nodded, clearly remembering the name. “Not you?”
“Obviously it drives me nuts, yeah. But, I mean…they’re my parents. What am I supposed to do? When I need something, I can always count on them.”
“Do Matt’s parents not have any idiosyncrasies?”