Excerpt: Magical Midlife Dating

Chapter 1

“Just jump. You’ll never know unless you try.” Mr. Tom stood beside a gaping hole in the third floor of Ivy House, looking down at the cold emptiness below.

He was trying to get me to jump out of the trapdoor that I’d first discovered almost thirty years ago when I visited Ivy House as a kid. Staring down from that height had given me a sense of foreboding way back in the day, and at the time no one had been pressuring me to jump out of it in the hope a pair of magical wings I wasn’t positive I had would snap out of my back and save me before I went splat.

“Niamh is circling just out of sight,” Mr. Tom said, motioning me forward. Frigid air blasted through the opening and tousled his stringy comb-over. He grimaced and smoothed the gray strands across his scalp. As a protector of Ivy House, he’d gotten the strength and vitality of youth when I accepted the magic, but he hadn’t received any visual benefit, including growing back his hair. I’d made that choice for him, and for the other protectors, Niamh and Edgar and Austin, by deciding to keep my own appearance, and I’d learned pretty quickly that it was a point of contention for some of the others. Mainly Mr. Tom.

Thankfully, he didn’t mention it now.

“Okay, but…” I shook my head, focusing on my breathing. “Are we sure she’s waiting down there?”

“The house has put out a summons to its protectors, insisting that we support you in your training today. It would require an incredible amount of willpower to resist or wander away. She will circle until called off; Ivy House will make it so.”

“Except…Austin didn’t show up.”

“Yes. He clearly has incredible willpower.”

I shook my head, staring down at the green grass and the small shape of Edgar, his arms raised.

“He can’t possibly think he could catch me from this high of a drop,” I murmured.

“He’s not playing with a full deck of cards. The magic returned his strength and prowess, but there is only so much magic can do for the mind. That vampire only has one oar in the water, so to speak.”

As if Mr. Tom could talk. Tom wasn’t even his real name! He’d made it up when he first met me. I didn’t even want to get started on his habit of naming weapons and his absolute refusal to let me burn down the doll room. Mr. Tom was clutching to reality with nothing but his fingernails.

“I need a drink,” I murmured, fear running through my blood in cold shivers.

“Nonsense. Drinking is for the weak. You don’t want to turn out like that wretched woman, do you, reduced to throwing rocks at strangers and allies alike and forcing dry sandwiches on unsuspecting folk?” He meant Niamh. The two didn’t see eye to eye on many things. Or anything, really. “No. You will jump, your logic will deduce that you need to fly in order to save yourself, and thus your wings will extend from your back.”

“Uh-huh.” I edged forward, the toes of my runners scuffing the wood floor. The cold wind crept along my bare arms, raising goose pimples. My shirt did little more than cover my front, looping around my neck and upper waist, exposing my back so that my wings wouldn’t be hindered.

Presuming I had any.

“Yes, using them will be as natural as you please. I never told you, but I was a late bloomer. It took me forever to get up the willpower to attempt flight. Finally, my father just threw me off the edge of the cliff. All I needed was a little shove!”

“Your wings just knew what to do, or…?”

“Well, no, at first I couldn’t quite get them to work in sync, so I accidentally careened back into the cliff face and eventually spiraled down into the water, but on the third try, I had it! Nothing to it.”

My flat stare wiped the supportive smile off his face.

“Your wings will be dainty,” he rushed to say, patting my shoulder. “Much easier to control.”

My body shook, and I wasn’t sure if it was because of the cold or because of the fear.

“Just because you are trying a new thing, doesn’t mean you need to let go of what you’ve already learned,” Mr. Tom reminded me softly. “You should not feel the cold. Remember?”

Barely having to think about it, I reached for the heat deep in my gut and pulled it out until it covered my body. As Mr. Tom had promised, learning this magic had so far been second nature. Edgar would read instructions for controlling body heat or whatever from an ancient volume only he seemed able to decipher, and barely at that, and the knowledge would burst forth as though it had been tucked in my brain all along. Sometimes it was even easier—I’d just think about something and, without knowing how, make it happen. My situation wasn’t exactly a science at this point.

Edgar said the recall ability had been built into the magical transfer because there were often large time gaps between the chosen, and it wasn’t a given there’d be anyone around to train the new heir. The unconscious magical ability was the same situation, only more uncontrolled.

So why hadn’t I already jumped?

According to Edgar, certain higher-level abilities would be more difficult to master. No one knew if flying was the run-of-the-mill type of magic that I’d pick up easily, or the harder version that would take extensive practice.

“Are you sure I even have wings?” I asked, dangerously close to whining. “We’ve seen no evidence.”

“Ivy House chose you. It gave you the magic. Tamara Ivy was a female gargoyle, so wings are part of the package.”

“Youth was supposed to be too, and we don’t have that.”

“That was your misguided notion, not the fault of the magic. Trust me, if you didn’t have wings, Ivy House would slam this trapdoor shut right now to prevent you from falling to your death. It will protect its chosen at all costs.”

I held my breath, looking at the heavy steel of the trapdoor leaning open. Given Mr. Tom’s pause, I could tell he was doing the same.

After a few quiet beats of no activity, I whispered, “Damn it,” and blew out a breath. “Why not try a window on the second floor? That way, if nothing happens, I might just break my leg instead of my neck.”

“You need falling time to figure things out. If you jumped from the second story, you’d probably break your legs just as your wings extended, and you’d almost certainly crush Edgar when he got in your way trying to save you. Besides, I doubt you’ll kill yourself jumping from the third floor. It’s not that high.”

It certainly seemed that high.

“Okay, fine. Okay. Fine.” I shook out my hands. Wind whipped around me. I didn’t see the flutter of Niamh’s black wings within my limited scope of sight. I’d have to trust she was there, and was close enough to swoop in and grab me should things go pear-shaped.

I had every belief things would go pear-shaped. How the hell was I supposed to believe I could fly when just a couple months ago I didn’t even believe magic was real? I thought I was doing a pretty good job of acclimating to the fantastic, but this was pushing it. Wings magically sprouting from my back? And I was counting on being able to use them instantly, something even baby birds couldn’t do without practice.

“This is stupid. What the hell am I doing? I’m going to kill myself.” Clenching my fists, I barely stopped myself from edging backward. My toes hung over the lip. The world swam in front of me.

I thought about jumping. Maybe even just tipping forward and falling.

But, oh God, what if I started spinning or flipping in the air, and my wings did pop out, but I was ass over end and couldn’t right myself, and—

I clenched and unclenched my hands, trying to still my mind. Trying to get into the mindset to jump. My legs felt like jelly. My stomach pinched and energy buzzed through me, soaked through with fear.

Austin’s voice drifted through my head, remembered encouragement from one of the many pep talks he’d given me.

Take life by the balls, Jess. You are strong and confident. You are powerful with or without that magic. You have things to say, and this world needs to hear them. Grab life by the balls and make it yield.

“Yes, indeed. Exactly right.” I gritted my teeth and nodded, leaning forward over the large drop.

“What?” Mr. Tom asked.

“Grab it by the balls…”

“Who?” Mr. Tom covered his crotch.

“Just grab…” Wind swirled my hair. Edgar reached up a little higher, ready. He seemed to think the job of saving me would be left to him. He always had the utmost faith in Niamh, and yet he was acting like she wouldn’t come through.

My mind buzzed. Fear beat a drum in my chest. My stomach flipped as I prepared to jump.

How was Niamh going to grab me without hands? Her other form was a freaking flying unicorn. The best she could do was swoop down under me, but if I was spinning around, I’d just glance off her, go careening, and slam into the ground anyway. There was no way I’d have the presence of mind to grab on to her, and even if I did, she didn’t have a saddle. What was I supposed to hold on to?

“Screw it. Grab life by the balls. Now or never—”

 

 

 

 

Chapter 2

 

I lifted a foot to jump, my stomach now in my neck, and a strong gust of wind slapped me. So intense it felt solid, it shoved me back, away from the opening. I unconsciously put out my hands to ward it away, and the steel trapdoor swung from its position and crashed down, bouncing on its frame.

A pulse blasted out from the center of me, reverberating through the house and shocking into the grounds beyond. From there it kept traveling, not losing steam, until it drifted into nothingness.

Mr. Tom looked at me as though waiting for an explanation.

I wasn’t sure if I should ask, “What was that?” or just randomly shout for no reason. Really no losing between those two options.

I chose, instead, to just stare back with what I knew was a dumb look.

The silence felt gooey around us, suffocating the natural creaks of the house. I realized belatedly that I was creating it.

I tore the magic away, accidentally lifting the magical heat keeping me warm. Goosebumps returned along my arms.

“Dang it,” I said softly, trying to balance everything out.

“Well. I guess we’ll see what kind of help you’re looking for.” Mr. Tom straightened up, sniffed, and walked from the room.

I eyed the closed trapdoor. It appeared Ivy House didn’t think I was ready to take that part of life by the balls. Thank God.

“What do you mean, the kind of help I’m looking for?” I followed Mr. Tom out of the room and down the hall toward the stairs. “What did I do?”

“You called for aid, which is well within your rights as the mistress of Ivy House. It seems you don’t think myself, Niamh, and Edgar are enough. That’s fine. You know best, after all.” His nose was lifted when we reached the ground floor. “Tea? Coffee? Something to take the edge off the horrible guilt you’re sure to feel once you’ve come to your senses?”

Edgar and Niamh met us in the kitchen, each wearing a pair of white cotton sweats, Edgar’s rumpled and with a yellowed stain that I didn’t want to think about—fearing it was a blood source of some kind—and Niamh’s with dirt and grass speckled on one side.

Mr. Tom had been in charge of choosing the house sweats when “at work,” a.k.a. changing forms, and it was no surprise his were the only ones that stayed clean.

“What went wrong there?” Niamh asked in her thick Irish brogue as she sauntered into the kitchen, her hair still short and white, her face baby soft but with deep creases of age, and her step light and spry, compliments of Ivy House. “Earl, put on a cuppa tae, would ye? I’m absolutely dyin’ with the thirst.”

Earl was Mr. Tom’s real name. As usual, when she used it, Mr. Tom pretended he couldn’t hear her. It was why I’d buckled early and just resigned myself to calling him by his chosen name.

“Earl, ye insufferable gobshite, I know you heard me,” Niamh said, ruled by her own weirdness. She wasn’t put off by his silent treatment. She was also so ancient that, even though she always retained her accent, she went in and out of various countries’ slang and choice of words. “Is this why that other family you worked fer shoved ye out the door, is it? Couldn’t do a simple thing like—”

“Ah yes, how I missed your soft, dulcet tones these last few days when we trained Jessie in close combat, independently of you,” Mr. Tom said sarcastically, moving to the kettle. “What a treat to have us all together again.”

“You’re no feckin’ picnic yerself, sure yer not,” she muttered, heading to the table. She noticed the dirt and grass clinging to her leg and bent to wipe it off, sprinkling it onto the floor. Mr. Tom’s mouth pressed into a thin line, but he held his tongue.

“Did you lose your nerve?” Edgar asked me, his brown eyes soft.

“Didn’t you feel the summons?” Mr. Tom asked, pulling down the tea set covered in yellow and orange flowers and placing it on the granite island. Porcelain clinked and shook as the pieces settled. It was the ugliest tea set I’d ever seen in my life. “She is calling in reinforcements.”

“Of course we felt it. The whole world probably felt it,” Niamh said. “It nearly blew my hair back. ’Bout time, too. There’s only so much carry-on we can handle from Edgar while he hems and haws over that terrible excuse for an instruction manual.”

“It is not an instruction manual,” Edgar said patiently—the guy never seemed to lose his temper. “It’s an ages’ old magical artifact that remains lost until a new chosen is selected, and then is miraculously found. Given I was the one who found it in the garden, I am the one able to decipher its mysteries.” He scratched his head, and small flakes drifted toward the counter.

“Edgar, please.” Mr. Tom slid the tea set further away from him. Porcelain clattered. “Use some Head & Shoulders or visit Agnes. She can probably concoct a potion to get rid of that…issue.”

“It’s my nails. I need to cut them.” Edgar looked at his pointed, claw-like fingernails.

“Mysteries, me arse.” Niamh shook her head and looked out the window onto the sunny but cold afternoon.

“The summons wasn’t connected with the minor setbacks I’ve had with deciphering the book,” Edgar said, “though you’d think the house would make it a little easier for its chosen to read it. The summons was for help with flying, or maybe just help in general, wasn’t it, Jessie?”

I sat opposite Niamh at the round table and pulled my laptop in front of me. “I don’t know, honestly. I was just about to hurtle to my death when a gust of wind pushed me back and the trapdoor closed by itself.”

“You did those things,” Mr. Tom said, dropping a tea bag into the pot. “Half the things you do are still subconscious; you know that. Which is to be expected, of course. Your magic is designed to respond to your needs. If it weren’t, you wouldn’t be able to use half of it. Not without proper training, and, as we’ve seen from Edgar’s efforts, you do not have that.”

“I thought I was doing okay,” Edgar muttered, reaching up to scratch his head again. He paused with his hand halfway there, caught Mr. Tom’s severe look, and slowly dropped it.

I frowned at Mr. Tom. “I was preparing to jump, though.”

“You only think that. What you were really doing was psyching yourself up to shut it all down and call for help.” He lifted his nose and pulled bread out of the cabinet. “It seems you have an idea of the kind of help you need, and we are not it.”

A grin spread across Niamh’s face. “She has twelve spots in that Council Room for her staff, but you thought if she had ye, she wouldn’t need to fill them all up, is that right? You thought an old, fired butler with too few marbles rolling around in his head was all she needed to conquer this incredible new magic? Well, don’t ye think the world of yerself, boy.” She leaned back, chuckling. “You know yerself that she needs all twelve in that circle. She certainly needs whoever is meant to fill the number one spot.”

When she paused this time, I couldn’t help a rolling wave of unease in my gut. No one had yet explained to me why I needed a council. What I was meant to do with the incredible magic I’d eventually wield. Was there a larger purpose for me, or was that council just meant to keep me alive if anyone threatened me? I didn’t know, and I was too chicken to ask.

Niamh entwined her fingers. “That is the way of it. It’s the way it’s always been, hasn’t it, Edgar?”

Edgar beamed. “So you do listen—”

“She should’ve sent out that call before now,” Niamh continued. “Elliot Graves has already shown his interest in her. Given that she now rules Ivy House, he’ll be thinking on how to get her to join his faction. He’s the best mage in the world—he’s watched by his peers. Even if people don’t have a clue what Ivy House is, they’ll certainly get curious in a hurry. If you think they won’t come knocking, trying to poke the bear and see what all this is about, you’re a thickheaded dope, so ya are. They’ll pick a fight just to see what she can do. I’ll tell ye what, too, we’d better hope she’s a helluva lot better at the magic than she is now. She’s mostly useless right now.”

“Thanks,” I said sourly, shifting the screen away from them as I clicked into an online dating app for (non-magical) mature singletons that was supposed to be best for thirty-three and up. How they’d landed on thirty-three, I had no idea, but I figured that since my magic made me a target, it was best to start with someone more my speed, hence the non-magical.

On the one hand, I wasn’t sure I wanted to head into the stormy waters of dating. I liked being on my own for the first time, able to come and go as I pleased without having to answer to anyone other than an old butler who just wanted to make my life easier and make me snacks. Becoming a giant starfish across the bed was a rare treat after sharing with someone for half my life. It felt pretty great, actually.

But the need for intimacy gnawed at me. Toward the end of my marriage, my libido had started ramping up, but Matt’s version of foreplay had been moving into position and going for it. By the time I was warming up, he was ready to go to sleep. It was more frustrating than gratifying, and I didn’t really have anyone to vent to—it was something people my age didn’t seem to talk about. At least not women.

Part of the problem had been me, of course. I hadn’t demanded he try a little harder or learn the things that would have worked better. Resentment had kicked in, and sex had become the equivalent of one more chore at the end of the day. One more thing that pleased him and not me so much.

I wanted to change that so badly. I wanted my fresh start to be inclusive of physical intimacy again. I used to love it. I loved kissing and making out, holding hands and taking walks. I loved love—at least the idea of love. I wanted to experience that again. I wanted to experience the rush of falling headfirst, and the anxious but not unpleasant fear of the floor dropping out from under me.

I just needed to find someone to do that with. Super easy, of course, given I hadn’t dated in a dog’s age, didn’t know how to flirt without being awkward or creepy, and didn’t have the first clue how to meet someone in the wild. Like, did you just walk up to a rando and start a conversation? That wouldn’t go well for me. Small talk was my nemesis. Did you give come hither eyes and wait to see if they did? How was I supposed to manage that without giving a deranged serial-killer vibe?

All unknowns. I’d decided to get my feet wet with online dating. I’d be taking the plunge for the first time later tonight.

Maybe I should’ve jumped earlier. My inevitable injuries would have given me an excuse to cancel.

“I wonder if there is an adult bookstore in this town,” I mused, because the only way I was likely to get some action was if it was from myself.

All conversation stopped.

My face instantly heated and I slammed my laptop closed out of pure embarrassment. Liking some boom-boom time was one thing, but broadcasting what I planned to do if it was not readily available was a different thing entirely.

“I mean… What I meant was…” I stammered.

“First things first, Jessie—we need to square away business,” Niamh said, completely unperturbed. Edgar’s wide eyes said he was not so blasé about the whole thing. “After that, we’ll get ye enough bells and whistles to have ye singin’ the Lord’s name. Ye won’t want to come out’ve that room for a week, so you won’t.”

“That’s… No. What I’d meant to say was—”

“Austin is practically beside himself with preparing for whoever might come calling,” Niamh went on. “That poor fella is actin’ like he’ll be the only one defending this town against ’em. We need backup we can trust.”

“How do we know we can trust them?” I asked, face still blazing like a furnace as I pretended to be as mature as my age.

Niamh gave me a long look. “That’s your department. The house will help, I believe…”

“Yes.” Edgar entwined his fingers as he neared the table. Surely the gesture was meant to keep him from scratching his head, but Niamh’s look made him pause and retreat to the other side of the kitchen. “The summons should call all the able-bodied that your magic deems worthy. You will need to choose who works for you and who doesn’t. This will just be the first wave, I believe. The first summons. As you progress, you’ll send out more, the first few accidental, like now, and then on purpose as you fill in your team. It is expected that you be choosy. Very choosy, if you want to. Downright picky—”

“We get it,” Mr. Tom drawled, putting the finishing touches on the sandwiches. “Edgar, you don’t want a sandwich, do you?”

“No, no.” Edgar smiled, his long canines looking ghastly in his gleaming smile—he’d been using whitening gel on his teeth, a subtle hint that he clearly wished Ivy House had spruced the color up a bit. “I stunned some trespassers I caught sneaking around in the woods before the house called us in. I’ll just go tuck into them.”

“You don’t…” I cleared my throat. I’d asked this before, but I always worried the answer would change. “You don’t plan on killing them, right?”

“Oh no, of course not.” Edgar laughed. “I only kill for sport. No, I’ll just take enough to tide me over. Don’t fight today, save it for another day.”

Niamh shook her head. “You’ve missed the mark on that cliché.”

“Right, well.” He nodded at me. “Probably best you didn’t jump. There was a possibility of Niamh running you through with her horn. You might’ve healed from that, but then what if I didn’t catch you? A horn and a splat? That might’ve been too much for even Ivy House magic to patch up.”

“Run her through, me arse,” Niamh grumbled. “I would’ve gotten her. The height was tough, though. We should find a higher point to drop her from. That way I’d have more time for maneuvering. You know, since someone is too afraid to miss and drop her.” She gave Mr. Tom a pointed look.

I let my jaw drop, looking at each of them in turn. “Really? You were all thinking this and didn’t bother to mention it?”

“If we’d mentioned it, you wouldn’t have jumped,” Mr. Tom said, coming around the island with the plate of sandwiches.

There were no words.

“Now, about this dating—let’s see what you’ve got there.” Niamh moved around the table and motioned at my laptop. “Who’s this fella you’re goin’ out wit’ tonight, then?”

 

 

Chapter 3

 

I had told them all when I confirmed the date. I’d even broken down and told my son on our last call. Surprisingly, Jimmy had wished me well. The others had mostly ignored me. Given I hadn’t canceled the date, something I was sure Mr. Tom hoped I’d do, since the guy wasn’t magical, clearly Niamh now wanted some specifics.

My stomach rolled over. “I found him on a different site. I was just checking this profile…”

“Sure, yeah, fine, let’s have a look. Come on.” She stood behind me.

A second opinion probably wasn’t a bad idea. I hadn’t been incredibly choosy on the guy I’d agreed to meet tonight, not really knowing what to look for in a dating profile, let alone which not-as-obvious red flags to avoid. He was about my age, somewhat in shape, based on his profile pictures, and said he liked to stay active. I figured that was a good start.

I inched the laptop open and clicked into my account again. “I’ve only posted a profile on this site. I haven’t talked with anyone yet…”

My voice trailed off and my eyes widened at the number of messages waiting for me.

“How long has that profile been up?” Niamh asked, leaning closer.

“The chosen of Ivy House dating?” Mr. Tom placed the plate on the table and huffed. “Ridiculous. With your prestige, you’ll have your pick. It’s as I’ve told you: you need but wait.”

“I don’t want someone who’s after my magic,” I said. “Besides, anyone interested in my magic is going to assume I’ve been turned young again. They might be put off that I’m not.”

“The only thing they’ll be put off by is your social awkwardness.” Mr. Tom turned and headed back to the island. “Eventually they’ll warm up to you.”

“He’s a real treat,” Niamh said, reaching over me and touching the message icon on the screen.

“This isn’t a touch screen,” I said, clicking in. “The profile has only been up for a few days. There’s no way I should have— Oh my God!”

The very first message was an erect member of the male persuasion. Grainy and angled, obviously taken as a still life in the heat of the moment with a bad-quality camera, it was one of the worst dick pics I’d ever seen.

And I would know—I’d seen quite a few since entering the world of online dating. “I hate this part of dating sites.” Disgusted, I trashed it and moved on to the next. “Come on, really? Two in a row? Why do they do this?”

Niamh leaned a little closer, examining. “You’ve got this all wrong. It’s best to see the willy up front. This way, ye don’t have to go through all the rigmarole to check out the equipment. Good size? Well then, sure, let’s try it out. Too small or big? Keep moving, my dear, I haven’t the time.”

“It’s not the size of the vessel, it is the motion in the ocean,” Mr. Tom said.

“That’s only what women tell you, ye old goat. They’re trying to make you feel better about yerself,” Niamh said as I trashed the pic and moved to the next. Yet another one. Trash.

“In my prime, they were too speechless to say anything at all.” Mr. Tom puffed up in pride.

“I think I just died a little inside,” I groaned.

“This many photo peep shows can’t be normal.” Niamh clicked into the profile section.

“What do you know about it?” Mr. Tom asked, pouring hot water into the teapot.

“I’ve done a great many of these dating sites for Edgar. Before he got his vitality back, we had to lure his food in under false pretenses. It’s easier to get guys on board, o’course, so I did the profile for a younger me.” Niamh blinked at the screen, then moved back a bit. “I keep forgetting that Ivy House fixed my eyesight. I’m a new woman.”

“Still wretched, sadly,” Mr. Tom muttered.

“Ah. Here.” She pointed at my list of favorite ways to relax. “You put ‘watch Netflix and chill.’”

I nodded. “I figured saying ‘watch TV’ was dated, Prime isn’t as popular, and I just don’t see the point in Hulu—Netflix seemed like the obvious winner.”

Niamh leaned to the side so she could see my face. “Are ye jokin’?”

“What?” I asked.

“‘Netflix and chill’ means you are looking for sex,” Mr. Tom said as though that were common knowledge.

“What’s this now?” I asked, staring harder at the words as though they might morph before my eyes.

“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.

Hair messier than I’d like, I put on a shawl (for appearances; I could have been perfectly warm naked in the middle of winter) and set out down the stairs.

“Miss.” Mr. Tom met me there, his tux wrinkle-free, his wings hanging down his back like a cape, and his expression still perturbed because I’d unintentionally called in reinforcements (add that to the grievance of not granting him the appearance of youth, and a real list was forming). “Shall you be requiring refreshments this evening?”

He always asked me this when I went out, but this time, I discerned a tone.

“No. It’s just a meetup. I won’t be bringing him back with me, Mr. Tom.”

“Whether you do or do not is no business of mine. If you do, however, you must remain cautious. Just because you can no longer contract diseases doesn’t mean you will not get pregnant. You are not too old to conceive.”

My mind stutter-stopped. “What do you mean I can’t contract diseases?”

“Magic. It cleanses the blood, in a way. You can’t get diseases of any kind. You won’t get cancer, you won’t get…whatever else Dicks and Janes contract with their weak immune systems.”

“But…Niamh said she lost one of her breasts because of breast cancer. You know, before Ivy House magic brought it back.”

He gave me a long-suffering look, which he seemed to reserve for discussions with or about Niamh. “She was not being honest. She lost it in the Battle of Five Spades. The enemy pierced her armor, and the golden sword tip lodged in her breast—gold is to her kind what silver is to shifters. Lethal. Losing her mammary gland saved her life. She lopped it right off, I’ve heard. After killing the enemy, of course. She never mourned its absence. No one else in town shared her view, especially when she walked around downtown wearing a thin white T-shirt, while braless, in the rain. The show she gave was apparently more than anyone cared to see, though I suppose it wouldn’t have mattered if she’d had one or both mammary glands in that instance.” He straightened up and put an arm behind his back like the ancient butlers in a place like England. “Should you decide to reduce yourself to a Dick’s level, there are condoms in the drawer of your never-used night table, the one on the guest’s side. Let him put it on—you’re clearly unused to the practice and would probably do it incorrectly. There are more in the bathroom. You have plenty to be getting on with, but if you need more, I can go—”

“Oh my God, I’ll be fine.” I hastened to the door. “I’m good, Mr. Tom. We don’t need to be so much in each other’s lives.”

“As your protector, miss, I must—”

I shut the door. Edging into middle-aged dating was uncomfortable enough; I didn’t need help from my ancient, wacky butler. I had to draw the line somewhere.

As I started walking, nervousness coiled within me. Wow, it had been a long time since I’d gone on a first date. A long, long time. I had no idea what to expect. The guy I was meeting was a few years older than me, with a couple of teenagers and a steady job as a winemaker, and lived one town over. We had similar interests, and though he was apparently big into crime shows, he also enjoyed comedy. If we went to a movie or something, we’d probably be able to find some common ground.

That was about the extent of what I knew, though. I supposed I could’ve exchanged a bunch more emails with him before taking the plunge, but I didn’t much like getting to know someone via electronic communication. Inflection was missing, as was tone. I had a large propensity for sarcasm—I couldn’t have someone mistaking that for genuine concern, because then where would we be?

The windows of Austin’s bar shone up ahead, the honeyed glow spilling out onto the sidewalk and highlighting a couple of Harleys parked out in front. A flicker of light caught my attention to the right. A man leaned against a thin tree trunk in front of the closed candy shop, his head bowed over his phone, the light not reaching his face. He glanced up as I passed, his face concealed in the shadow of a flat-billed baseball cap.

A familiar warning sensation crawled down my scalp and over my skin—something I felt whenever I encountered a male stranger lurking in the shadows. I pulled my gaze away, lest he took that as a challenge or as interest, watching instead for movement out of the corner of my eye. I held my breath as I increased the distance between us, speeding up just enough that I’d get out of there faster, but not enough that he saw I was scared and decided he liked chasing prey. I might not technically be prey to people anymore, but old habits died hard.

In a moment, though, he dropped his head back to his phone, uninterested. I let out a relieved breath. He was probably waiting for something, bored, and had decided to check out the chick in the dress as she walked by.

My relief was short-lived.

Up ahead, hanging out outside the bar, sucking on a cigarette and checking out the Harleys, stood my nemesis. He kept trying to annoy and antagonize me in subtle little ways, something he did despite knowing Austin would punch him off his barstool (literally) if he talked trash to me. It had happened on my very first night in town, plus another handful of times in the two or so months since. The guy’s name was Ryan, but he didn’t deserve the respect of being called his real name, so I’d dubbed him Sasquatch for his shaggy hair and bushy beard, which probably held crumbs and fleas alike. He was clearly as dumb as rocks, and if his vendetta weren’t so tragically annoying, it would be hilarious.

He grunted as I neared, the amber of his cigarette glowing across his bushy unibrow. “What are you doing here? You don’t come in on Thursdays,” he said.

“Funny, I’d hoped the same thing about you.”

“I come in every day.”

“Maybe if you had a friend, you wouldn’t have to.”

“Well, maybe if you had a friend…” His brow furrowed and a constipated look crossed his face. “You’d… You wouldn’t…”

I smirked. “Need a little more time for that comeback? Should I check in later and see if you were able to think of anything?”

He flicked his cigarette at me, sparks shedding as it sailed through the air.

“Oh my God, what the hell?” Pain flared on my palm as I slapped it away, a flurry of sparks following its progress. “You’ve got problems, dude. That hurt.”

“You’re magical now, apparently. You’ll heal.”

“Just wait until I know more of my magic. Hopefully you won’t heal.”

He chuckled. “Fat chance, terrorist.”

I could do nothing more than stare at him for a moment, shaking my head. What did you even say to that? It had exactly no grounding in reality.

Giving up on our not-so-snappy repartee, I continued on toward the door. At least I wasn’t scared of him anymore. Thanks, Ivy House. And thank you, Mr. Tom, who had been teaching me close combat with a knife named Cheryl. It was the same knife I currently had tucked away in my clutch, a light, sleek, spring-loaded blade that required very little pressure to bring springing forth from its lovely teal casing.

Before I could get through the door, Sasquatch stepped in front of me, halting my progress.

“Really?” I asked dryly, half inclined to take Cheryl out for a spin right now.

“Ladies first, which is why you’re going last,” he said.

“Great, yeah, real snappy put-down, jackass.”

“How do ya like me now?”

I gritted my teeth, wondering what I could do. Magically shove him out of the way? Shank him? Wet willie? All were terrible, but I didn’t want to start a fight this close to Austin’s bar. It was rude, for one, and two, I wasn’t one hundred percent positive I would win. I mean…I thought I could, but a lifetime of being weaker than my possible attackers made me hesitate. I had a lot of past conditioning to work through before I was ready to start a bar fight. Besides, Austin quelled violence in his bar, regardless of who started it.

Sasquatch took slow, heavy steps, intentionally holding me up, swinging his weight too far from one foot to the next. He’d be easy to knock askew, and then, when he was getting his balance back, probably flailing his arms, it’d be easy to stick something sharp into one of his soft places.

Wow. I’d really retained Mr. Tom’s teaching. Clearly I had a violent streak somewhere inside of me, no doubt bulldozed in my twenties so I could better fit in with the mothers and wives and women around me.

Did social conditioning bulldoze away their interesting bits too? I wondered as I followed Sasquatch into the bar, careful to breathe through just my mouth. There was a funk wafting off him that I didn’t want invading my world. Maybe we’d all had a fire inside of us, clawing to get out, and we’d kept it at bay to fit into someone else’s mold of what we should be as women.

I chewed my lip, thinking. Digressing. I kinda wished I could go back in time and strike up some very different conversations with a few of them.

Maybe we could have encouraged each other to approach life differently, to let out some of that fire. Because it felt pretty damn good, and I couldn’t wait until I no longer had to rely on Austin and the others to protect me. Someday I would be the only protection I needed.

“Goals,” I muttered, drawing the notice of a younger guy sitting at a small table off to the side. I shrugged. “I only talk to myself when I need an intelligent conversation,” I told him, continuing on.

“Nut job,” Sasquatch said.

“You should talk,” I replied, barely stopping myself from giving him a dig in the ribs.

Sasquatch peeled off to the side, finally getting out of my way. I caught sight of Austin behind the bar, his large shoulders straining the confines of his gray cotton shirt. The fabric stretched down over his robust chest, pulling tight between his pecs and loosening a little over his flat stomach. His cobalt gaze noticed Sasquatch before darting to me—and then back to Sasquatch. His easy posture and relaxed air changed in an instant, and suddenly every muscle in his very impressive body was flexed. He straightened up slowly, and cold shivers zipped down my frame, screaming of danger. Telling me to leave Cheryl where she was, forget my magic—it wouldn’t be enough—and race the hell out of there.

Chatter and laughter died down until Austin’s presence extinguished it completely. His face—high cheekbones, straight nose, planes and angles that ended in lush lips—morphed from something handsome into something that might be the last thing his enemy saw on Earth. That enemy, at the moment, was Sasquatch.

Sasquatch froze. He tensed for a beat, clearly feeling a challenge, and just as clearly thinking about answering it.

I could feel the whole bar holding its breath. I’d seen Austin in action in wide-open spaces. He was strength and power and incredible brutality that, if set loose in this confined space, would ruin the bar.

I started edging backward.

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