“Single sex, group sex, dirty sex—”
“Yes, we get it, Niamh.” Mr. Tom brought the tea over. “Let’s not get carried away.”
“Well, clearly she doesn’t get it.” Niamh hooked a thumb at me.
“That explains the plethora of dick pics,” I said softly, trashing the whole lot and clicking in to edit my profile.
“Nope, don’t do it that way.” Niamh shook her head as she moved back around the table and took her seat. “You’ll want to start over. You’ve ruined the algorithms. They’ll send your stuff to the wrong people, now.”
“Are you sure?” I asked, hesitating.
“You should trust her,” Edgar said from the corner. He’d been so still and quiet that I’d forgotten he was there. “She did a great job of luring men to her. They were so excited, they didn’t even notice me sneaking up behind them.”
“Edgar doesn’t realize that, unlike Janes, Dicks are rarely afraid that a stranger will attack out of the blue,” Mr. Tom said, setting the tea tray down on the table. Janes and Dicks were what magical people called non-magical women and men.
“Yes, true.” Niamh poured milk into her mug before reaching for the teapot. “Janes are used to being prey. They often have their guard up. Dicks, however—la-dee-da until they have a vampire attached to their necks. They’re asleep before they even react.”
“Not like our Jessie,” Edgar said, beaming with pride. “My eye hurt for the rest of the night. I thought I might lose it.”
He was talking about the night he’d bitten me to keep me from discovering the magical world too soon. I’d gouged him in the eye before I succumbed to the sleeping agent of his bite.
“What is all this shite in me sandwich?” Niamh nudged the lettuce and tomato off her turkey. “Where’s the butter? I bet you didn’t put any Irish butter on it, did ye?”
“I used mayonnaise, like a sane person,” Mr. Tom said, “and that is a variety of vegetables that enhance the sandwich and are good for even you, you miserable cow. If you’re going to eat over here, you’re going to eat like a civilized adult.”
“Oh now, come on, what have ye got here?” Niamh inspected the inside of the sandwich. “What is this, mustard?” She dropped the bread and leaned back. “Thank ye, no. I will not be poisoned. I’ll be getting back.”
“If only I’d known getting you to leave was as easy as making a good sandwich,” Mr. Tom said.
“It’s actually as easy as pushing your company on me.” She headed toward the door. Before she went through, she turned back to me. “You told yer date that you’d meet him at the bar, right? So’s I could meet him?”
My stomach flip-flopped again. “I just said we’d meet for a few beers to get to know each other. He’s coming from a town over, so it’s just an informal meetup. I thought that was—”
Niamh nodded, waved me away, and disappeared into the hall.
“—best for my first time out of the gate,” I finished before bending to my sandwich.
“Don’t mind her, Jessie, she is a little rough on etiquette. She’s out of practice.” Edgar smiled at me, gliding to the table. He replaced the bread slice over the turkey, left off the vegetables, and headed for the door. “I’ll just take this in case those trespassers are awake. They’ll probably stick around if I offer them a refreshment.”
Stick around? They were likely trapped in his cottage somewhere. I doubted a sandwich would erase the sting of having been transported to a stranger’s house without their knowledge. At least it wasn’t a cave, but still.
Mr. Tom shook his head sadly as Edgar left the room. “He means well.” He presented his hand, at the end of which, resting on his bare fingers, hung a limp slice of Swiss cheese. “Niamh isn’t the only one out of practice. He used to be an excellent hunter. Now he’s… Well, Niamh will probably have to return to the dating site for him. I’d forgotten she used to do that.” He bent to look at the computer. “Or maybe they can just use your throwaways.” After a moment, he shook the cheese at me. “Well? Here. I forgot the cheese. Just tuck that right in there.”
No matter how long I was here, things never quite bent toward normal.I checked myself in the mirror before heading down to the front door. My little black clutch matched my little black dress, which fit much better than I remembered. I’d done my version of a smoky eye, which really just looked like dark eye shadow and ill-placed liner, paired with nude lips and only a touch of blush. My shoes were flat, because I planned to walk and honestly couldn’t be bothered with a heel. There was only so far I was willing to go for fashion. Stilts had not made the cut.