Magical Midlife Meeting (Leveling Up 5)

“Edgar, why must you clutter the space with these odd things?” Mr. Tom asked, whisking two doilies up.

“I figured we could all use a little taste of home,” Edgar answered. “A little comfort.”

“This is from your home, not ours, and the only thing comfortable about these misshapen things is the thought of throwing them in the fire.” Mr. Tom stacked up two more. Brochan looked on with a furrowed brow. He was new to the weird. It would probably be a bumpy ride as he got accustomed to it.

“An artist must not bend within the weight of misguided critique,” Edgar replied. “I must strive on, unfettered. The perfect doily is out there for me.”

Brochan’s brow scrunched further.

“Just ignore it,” I murmured to him, trying to follow my own advice. “Don’t try to understand it. It’ll give you brain bubbles.”

“Miss, do you need anything before you go?” Mr. Tom asked, paused halfway between me and the kitchen before pursing his lips at Niamh, her head still stuck in the large refrigerator. “A to-go cup of coffee, perhaps? You didn’t sleep much last night, and the tunnels in this lair are probably extensive. You don’t want to run out of steam halfway through exploring.”

“No, I’m good.”

Ulric and Jasper came out right before Nathanial, their black suits similar to Brochan’s, but with white pocket squares.

The other shifters weren’t long after, their pocket squares red. The basajaun had on a black bow tie and a bunch of hair, like yesterday, and Hollace wore a purple pocket square.

Niamh finally straightened up, wearing a pantsuit like Cyra’s but with a holster for a flask. She had a pink pocket square.

“Well, wait,” Mr. Tom said, looking around, his gaze finally landing on Edgar. “Even you, Edgar? Everyone has a pocket square but me?”

“Well, if ye weren’t so busy hemming and hawing, about messing up the plane ride,” Niamh said, walking over to stand beside Brochan, “ye would’ve heard us plan it out, ye gobshite.”

“Each species gets a color,” Brochan said. “Yours is white.”

Mr. Tom straightened himself a little higher. “I’m no ordinary gargoyle. I am also the butler and personal assistant to the heir of Ivy House.”

“Well now, personal assistant, is it?” Niamh asked, a twinkle in her eyes. “What, then, do ye personally assist? Her travel arrangements?”

“Okay, okay, enough.” I rubbed my temples. “Mr. Tom, wear whatever color you want. Or none. It doesn’t matter. You have wings; they’ll get the idea.”

He lifted his nose. “I will wear white in solidarity.”

“Then why were ye on about yer extra failed tasks that ye do?” Niamh hollered at his retreating backside. “Jaysus, Mary, ’n’ Joseph, that gargoyle would drive ye to drink.”

“That’s your gift, then?” I pointed at her holster and flask.

“Aye.” She patted it. “The finescht whiskey that ever graced the land, kept nice and handy.”

“Which whiskey is that?” Brochan asked.

“No idea. I didn’t recognize the name and can’t taste the difference. But the note said it was the best, and so I’ll believe it. It sounds better than saying I got some eld slop he threw my way and don’t care regardless.”

Austin emerged last, his suit molding to his perfect body, his swagger on point, and his face hard. The alpha was ready for a gentlemanly battle of wits.

He looked around the room, checking out everyone’s clothes, before his gaze landed on me. His once-over lingered in a way Brochan’s hadn’t. He didn’t nod at the end, just took his place by my side and quietly waited for Mr. Tom to finish fiddling with his pocket square and join us.

“What took you?” I asked him.

“You won’t heal me. I’m still sore. I was stretching.”

I could feel his humor filter through the link even though it didn’t show on his face. I hadn’t healed myself either, and I was still a little sore today despite my fast healing abilities. I liked it. I liked the reminder of what Austin had done to me last night, how often he’d done it, and how hard. We’d kept at it into the small hours of the morning, only stopping to eat and lay a tripwire spell. I’d decided it was too risky to use one of the warding spells.

Even after all we’d done last night, I still craved Austin, the need for him unquenched, my desire still pulsing hot.

“Okay. My apologies.” Mr. Tom filed in, holding a tray of shot glasses filled with the revealing potion I’d made at home and packed. It would hopefully help us see any mages using an invisibility spell.

If we got out of this, I would set to work trying to figure out a potion that allowed me to see invisible people while being invisible myself. It didn’t make sense that that wasn’t a common thing. It had to be doable.

Sebastian would have been able to help me with that, I suspected, a thought that steeled my resolve.