“Yes, if you don’t mind. The others are already there, not to mention Austin.” Anger flash-boiled my blood. I pushed it aside. “I’ll have plenty of cover.”
“Of course.” Mr. Tom walked from the room with a straight back, raised nose, and grossly overdone stuffy English butler vibe. He did like to put on a show.
“You have your own butler?” Jimmy asked with a grin, his right cheek puffed out with food. “That is so fucking awesome.”
I frowned at him. “When you are in this house, you will not curse. Have respect for me and your surroundings.”
“Sorry,” he mumbled, and finished off the first sandwich.
“I do have a butler of sorts, yes. He kinda…came with the house. He was employed here when I came. So was the gardener.”
“Yeah, you have a huge yard.” He shook his head. “Dad’s house is big, but it doesn’t even compare to this one. He lives in a ritzy spot, but he certainly doesn’t have the money for a butler!”
“You went to his house first?” I tried not to let the disappointment show on my face. It was petty, but some things couldn’t be helped.
“Yeah. I thought you knew? He kept pushing and pushing, and all the guilt trips…” He sighed, picking up the second sandwich. “Same ol’ Dad. He hasn’t relaxed with the new setup.”
“So then…why are you early? I wasn’t expecting you for another day.”
“I could not handle Camila for one more second. She’s too…nice! She was always around, smiling and chatting and wanting to get to know me.” He shivered. “Dad was working like he always does, so it was mostly just me and her. I mean, she’s great, don’t get me wrong, but…” He shook his head and then took a bite.
“So…how long are you here? I’d thought you were going to leave from here to go there.”
“The week, if that’s okay? I fly out on Monday. After Easter.”
I smiled and quickly walked around to wrap my arms around his shoulders and squeeze him. “Of course! We have plenty of room. But…” I sat at a stool next to him. “Like I was saying, there have been some changes.”
“You found someone new?”
“What? No, not that. You see, I didn’t actually pay for this house. It kind of…chose me.”
His eyes narrowed, not out of suspicion, but like he was trying really hard to get my words to make more sense.
“Gargoyles are actually real,” I said. “Magic is real. I didn’t believe it at first, but… Well.”
“Are you on meds? Is it for the depression? Dad said you were depressed.”
My eyebrows crawled up my forehead, and a new flash of anger blistered through me. “Your father never bothered…” I pushed away the desire to talk smack, taking a deep breath. “I’m not depressed, no. I’m actually happier now than I’ve ever been. But the world as you know it isn’t actually the whole story.” I twisted my lips to the side, thinking. “Right, okay. Finish up. I’ll show you. I didn’t actually believe any of it until I saw proof.”
“What kind of proof?”
“You’ll see.”
“Miss, are you sure this is the best idea?” Mr. Tom stood in the large entryway, awaiting further instruction. “The game box is all cued up with his favorite game. Wouldn’t he rather do that? Remember how your parents reacted?”
Edgar stood beside Mr. Tom with a supportive smile. He had no problem showing his supernatural abilities to a non-magical person.
“This is the only way, Mr. Tom, or Ivy House will just rattle him. You know she will.” I pointed up at the panel arching above the entryway, bridging the gap between large, curving staircases. A lovely tableau of a meadow was etched into the wood, spring flowers covering the rolling hillside.
“Mom, you’re starting to make me nervous,” Jimmy said softly, and my heart squished because it was clear he was worried about me. He cared.
“You’re stealing all of my fun,” Ivy House said to me in our magical way of speaking. “I wanted to see if I could make him wonder if he was going crazy, like your father.”
“Which is exactly why I am telling him now,” I replied. “I want him to be happy here. To be comfortable. I want him to come back.”
The house was quiet for a beat. “Ten-four.” An affirmative.
The flowers engraved on the panel swayed as if caught in a gust of wind, the carvings so lifelike that I could almost smell the floral aroma. I found myself assigning colors to them: buttery yellow speckled with loud fuchsia. Violet dotting the way.
A memory stirred, of sitting on a rock shelf above such a meadow, a similar array of flowers stretching away into the soft afternoon sun. Austin had sat beside me, easy and comfortable, a feast of meats and fruits and cheeses displayed in front of us, a crate of wine to one side. He’d given me the perfect date, as he’d set out to do.