Niamh caught sight of them at the same time I did, braced herself, and stood slowly, rock in hand.
“Really? This has to happen right now?” I murmured.
“Blast this thing. Martha, I told you, you put too much stuff in the trunk,” my dad said.
“It’s not the stuff, it’s your muscles, Pete. They’ve atrophied. You should be exercising in retirement. Lifting a beer to your mouth is not exercising.”
“Depends on how many times you do it,” my dad responded.
“Here. Let me help.” Austin lightly jogged around the car, winking at me as he did so. “Let me help you, sir.”
Dad started, his eyes widening a little when he caught sight of Austin.
“Well, my goodness.” A smile slowly spread across my mom’s face. “Jacinta, who is this?”
“Oh, this is Austin. He’s a friend of mine.”
Niamh cocked back her hand and then let fly, a rock sailing through the air in a lazy arc before slamming against the arm of the teenage boy whose mouth had dropped open while looking at Ivy House. He jumped and grabbed the spot, the skin clearly smarting. When he looked around, he caught sight of Niamh straightening, having just picked up another rock.
“What the hell?” the kid hollered.
“We don’t want Peeping Toms around here,” Niamh yelled at them.
“It’s lookie-loos, not Peeping Toms,” I mumbled as the second projectile struck home, clunking the boy’s friend on the noggin.
“Ow!” The kid rubbed the offending spot.
“Is that old woman throwing rocks at those boys?” my mother said, aghast.
“Yeah, um…” I racked my brain for a way to put a positive spin on this. Niamh would surely be hanging out at Ivy House, and I didn’t want them to hate her. “We get some vandalism down this way, so Niamh tries to head them off. Ivy House is the oldest house in the town—it draws a lot of unwanted attention.”
“Ivy House? Is that—”
One of the boys rattled out a string of foul language as Niamh threw another rock.
“Did you hear that? Disgraceful, that language. Serves them right. Clearly they are up to no good.” My dad looked around his feet, but the only rocks in the vicinity were some decorative pea gravel. “I better help.”
“Dad, no. Leave it.” I patted his shoulder. “One crazy person on the block is enough. You don’t need to help her.”
“As if he could—he has terrible aim.” My mom clucked her tongue as the boys took off running. “I should make him clean around the toilet,” she said. “It’s more than a little sprinkle with those tinkles.”
Austin’s grin broadened.
“I could hit those kids from here,” my dad grumbled. “I’ve got good aim! My softball team won second place.”
“That was twenty years ago, Pete,” my mom said.
Austin reached into the trunk and pulled out one of the coolers, his biceps popping but showing no strain. “Should I take this to the house?”
“Oh, yeah, thanks.” My dad worked the other cooler out, heaving it from the car.
I reached for it. “I got it, Dad— Niamh, would you stop throwing rocks!” I yelled. She was still trying to hit the fleeing boys.
“Grab a bag.” My dad jerked his head at the duffel that had fallen from the corner of the trunk when the coolers were taken away. I grabbed it and hurried after them.
“It’s very gloomy, Jacinta,” my mother said, pulling a suitcase out of the back seat while looking up at Ivy House. “It looks like some sort of…black cloud is hanging over it, doesn’t it? It reminds me of Halloween.”
“Your mother is going blind, Jacinta,” my dad said over his shoulder. “She keeps losing her glasses.”
“Those are reading glasses, Pete. I don’t need them to see a big house. Look! It’s not even nighttime, but the window up there is glowing.”
“Listen to that, will ya, Austin? She fancies herself Stephen King now.” My dad shook his head as he made it to the porch. “Next she’ll say she sees a bat.”
Mr. Tom waited by the front door, his tuxedo as freshly pressed as ever and his posture straight and tall.
“Where do you want these?” Austin asked him.
“What…are those?” Mr. Tom asked. “They are visiting…with coolers? Like some sort of tailgaters?”
“Who’s this?” My dad half turned to me. “What’s he wearing, a tux with a cape? Is this one of those superhero convention things where everyone dresses up like a superhero? Is he some sort of James Bond with a Superman fetish or something? I didn’t bring a cape. I don’t even own a cape.”
“He’s the butler, Dad. He came with the house. Head to the kitchen, Austin.” I jerked my head to get him going. “Yes, Mr. Tom, they came with coolers. They get worried I won’t have the things they want, so they bring them. I thought maybe they’d trust me now, since I am no longer twenty, but here we are.”
“That’s your mother. I try to tell her, but she just won’t listen.” My dad set the cooler down just inside the door, opened the lid with a loud creaking noise, pushed aside a head of lettuce, and grabbed a can of beer. He held it out to me. “Wanna beer?”
Apparently we would not be waiting to get everything sorted in the kitchen.
“I would.” Niamh lifted her hand as she came up the walk, leaving my mother behind to continue rooting through the car. Lord knew what she was looking for, or why she didn’t just take everything out so the rest of us could help carry it in. “I’ll take one of them, if ye please.” Niamh stopped in front of my dad. “How’re ya? How’s it goin’? I’m Niamh from across the street.”
He passed over the can of beer before reaching down to grab another. He squinted at her. “Are you Irish?”
“Guilty. Leave that there,” she said as Dad started to mess with the cooler. “Come inside and sit down. Earl can handle all that.” She said it with the authority of one who lived there, an authority she deserved given she sat on the Ivy House council, but my parents didn’t know that. Still, my dad went with her willingly enough, muttering about her excellent aim and “punk kids.” Thank God she knew where I’d set up his TV lounge.
“A butler?” My mother finally caught up, rolling one suitcase and carrying another. “The house came with a butler? What sort of house comes with a butler?”
“It’s just…he had the job of caretaker, and when I bought the house, I didn’t want to turn him out.” I took the suitcase she held.
“Kinda weird with the cape, though,” she murmured as we finally crossed the threshold. “Does he always wear that, or is he trying to impress us somehow? Though I don’t know who would be impressed with a cape…”
“It’s…a long story. Go and sit down. Do you want—”
“Oh no, no, I’ll just see to the things I brought. I made deviled eggs. And clam dip. I figured that since you couldn’t make it down for Christmas—”
“I know, yeah. You said. Seriously, Mom, relax for a minute. It was a long drive. Do you want a beer? I’ll help Mr. Tom get things organized.”
She paused, looking up at the bloody scene Ivy House had left on the wood carving area in the foyer. While only I could see the carvings move, anyone could gawk at the still images.
Great. I’d hoped the house would change the scene before they came in.
“My goodness, that is horrific. Just what sort of place is this, Jacinta?” my mom asked.
She had no idea.
“Just…here.” I went back to the other cooler and grabbed out a beer. “Here. Go check on Dad. Niamh can be colorful.”
“Well, we need a tour, don’t we?”
“We…will,” I said, leading the way to the lounge. “We’ll get to that. Go check on Dad. The TV and cable box are new—I’m not sure if he’ll be happy with the setup.”
“Oh, he’s fine.” But she went in anyway.
I met Mr. Tom in the kitchen, standing over the cooler Austin had taken in, staring down at it like it was a dangerous bug with too man
y eyes. Austin had the same look.
“It’s just a cooler, you guys,” I said.
“It’s simply that…I have not heard of grown adults showing up to stay at a house with their own food and drinks, as though suspicious of the food and drinks they are liable to be given. Do they assume I will poison them?”
“There’s just certain stuff they prefer. My mom didn’t know I have a butler who shops and makes food.”
Austin bent to pull out a plastic bag of dried cranberries. He arched an eyebrow at me.
“It’s for salads. Seriously, you guys, this isn’t that weird. I mean…it’s a little weird that they would bring a cooler instead of just getting here and going shopping as needed, but…” I shrugged.
Austin put the cranberries on the island. “What is…clam dip?”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “It sounds gross, but it’s actually good.”
“That cannot possibly be true,” Mr. Tom said, removing items from the cooler as if they might explode at any moment.
“It’s cream cheese and, yes, canned clams, and other stuff. It’s good, seriously. Anything with cream cheese is good.”
“Cream cheese and seafood. Hmm, can’t wait.” Austin laughed, heading for the door. “I’ll grab the other cooler.”
“Yes. Because they brought two,” Mr. Tom murmured, lifting a roast and looking at me. “An entire roast? She is planning to cook dinner for everyone, I presume, since my cooking is so lacking?”
“Oh my God, Mr. Tom, stop making this about you, would you? I thought you were happy to meet the people who made me.”
“That was before they attempted to replace me.”
I stared at him for a solid beat. It hadn’t occurred to me that my mother might try to wrest the control of the kitchen, cleaning, and laundry away from Mr. Tom. Nor had it dawned on me that Mr. Tom would be affronted by this very standard behavior of hers. I tended to like when she did dinners and cleaned for me. That meant I had less to do. But the inevitable friction between Mr. Tom and my mom added a whole new layer of tension to my parents’ visit.
When Austin came in with the second cooler, I grabbed his arm in desperation. “Can I borrow your cabin for a couple weeks? Please?”
He laughed softly. “This is going to be a lot more fun for me than it will be for you.”
Four
I awoke, as I always did, to Mr. Tom’s face looming over me, his hands up to ward off an attack should I startle and react. I hadn’t in months, but he still hadn’t forgotten those early magical days when I’d accidentally flung him across the room. Using his hands as a shield hadn’t helped then, either, but you couldn’t fault the guy for trying.
“What are you going to do if I ever bring someone home?” I asked, the smell of bacon wafting through the air. My stomach growled.
“One can only hope I will eventually be faced with that conundrum, miss.” He straightened up to give me more space now that I was awake. A steaming cup of coffee waited on my nightstand.
I picked it up and took a sip. “What are the parents doing?”
I struggled to sitting and glanced at the clock. Nine in the morning, early for him to be in here. Magical people tended to move around more at night and sleep in late. It was a schedule I’d grown used to, although my parents adhered to a very different norm. Case in point—after their travels, a few beers, and a large snack that Mr. Tom had made before my mother could get into the kitchen, my dad had fallen asleep in his new chair, seemingly oblivious to all the other people in the room. My mom had insisted on ushering him to bed in embarrassment. I’d helped get them situated in their room, and that had been the end of it. They hadn’t come back down, opting instead for an early bedtime.
“The parents are currently filling downstairs with either smell or noise, that is what the parents are doing.” He sniffed. “Your mother commandeered the kitchen. She had the gall to try to rip my wings off so she could give them a fresh wash!”
I couldn’t help chuckling. “She doesn’t know they’re wings, Mr. Tom. She probably thinks you never wash your cape.”
“I took a shower this morning, I’ll have you know.”
“Right but…” I let it go. “She’s making breakfast?”
“Yes. We’ll need to let the others wander freely today. You’ll have to make those introductions.” He moved toward the door. “And your father needs a hearing aid. The TV volume is up so loud I worry it’ll crack the windows. When one of his racecars go by the screen, it sounds like thunder. There are a lot of racecars!”
I sighed. “He’s hard of hearing. It’s only for a week or so. We can tolerate it for that length of time.”
“And your mother clangs and smashes the pots and pans off each other. I had to take over and set them out for her so she wouldn’t deafen me. I can only imagine all the chips and scrapes we’ll have on the dishes.”
“It’s only a week or so,” I repeated. “It’ll be fine.”
Rigid, he left the room, leaving me to get ready.
After a shower, I checked my phone and noticed a missed FaceTime from Austin. My hair was still wrapped in a towel, my body encased in a robe, but I shrugged and took the phone over to the window. Looking down at the beautiful gardens, more flowers popping up every day, I hit the button and waited for it to connect.
The picture clicked on, showing a bare chest ripped with muscle before the image swung dizzily, giving me a peep of Austin’s nude package, what had to be his bedroom, the ceiling, and then his ear. “Hey,” he answered.
I froze. I’d seen Austin naked a good few times—bouts of semi-public nakedness were inevitable for anyone who changed form—and it stopped me short every single time. His perfect body was hard to look away from, rendered even more pleasing by his confident grace, and the sudden heat dripping through parts of my body was equally as hard to ignore.
“It’s FaceTime,” I said to his ear, a little rougher than I’d intended. “You FaceTimed me. I FaceTimed you back.”
After a beat, the phone pulled away from his head and his confused face filled the screen. “Oh. Sorry, I must’ve hit that by accident. I didn’t notice.”
“Clearly, yes. You gave me a peep show.”
He glanced down, and a sly smile tweaked his lips. He shook his head and looked away.
“You’re trying not to make a dirty joke, aren’t you?” I asked.
“Busted.” He laughed, thick and deep and pleasing. “How are your parents settling in?”
I pulled the towel off my head and headed toward the bathroom, where I grabbed a brush. “They went to bed shortly after you left for the bar.”
“Wow. That early, huh?”
I sat at the little vanity desk I never used so I could prop the phone up on the shelf that was probably intended for skin care products or something. Thank you, Ivy House, for making sure I didn’t need any. Not that I’d use stuff like that, anyway. Beauty was such a hassle. I’d rather not bother.
“Yeah, I’ll probably have to keep different hours for training for the week,” I said.
“Assuming it is just a week.”
“Don’t remind me. My mother had very little to say about the time frame, and my dad just grumbled about the new toilet. They’re playing it off like this is our substitute Christmas celebration, since I didn’t get down to them this year. Don’t worry, the clam dip and deviled eggs weren’t touched. You can try them when you come for dinner tonight.”
He laughed again, sounding more buoyant and carefree than usual. “Yeah, your mom cornered me yesterday with the invite. It was like she didn’t hear me when I said I’d probably have to work. She just kept telling me what time it would be.”
“She didn’t hear you. She doesn’t often listen to the answers to her questions. Then she delightedly asks the questions two or three more times because of it.”
“What are we having?”
I put the brush down and used my fingers to shake my hair out. “I don’t know. It depends on who wins the figh
t between her and Mr. Tom. Of course, she won’t know it is a fight, and that will enrage him. There was already a scuffle regarding breakfast.” I told him about my mom trying to get Mr. Tom’s cape so she could wash it. By the end, Austin was bent over laughing.
“Classic.” He wiped his eyes. “I might be around more this week. This is some good entertainment.”
I laughed and shook my head, picking up the brush again. “You only say that because you won’t have to be the referee.”
“Yes, exactly. Hey, listen…” His voice drifted away as he watched the brush glide through my hair.
“What?”
His eyes fluttered. “What?”
I stopped brushing for a moment, leaning toward the phone. “What’s with you this morning? Has the idea of buying a winery gotten you all squirrelly or something?”
His smile faltered and an uncomfortable expression crossed his face. Apparently not.
“I was just wondering…” He scratched his temple before moving through his room, the camera showing the light brown stubble on his chin. The image bounced as he set down the phone, and when it settled, I found myself staring at his chest. The urge to take a screenshot was strong. “Edgar is working on translating a part of the book that should allow you to set magical snares.” To everyone’s surprise, Edgar had been chosen to translate a book that acted as instruction for my magic. He had to but (laboriously) read a passage and the knowledge for that spell blossomed in me as though I’d known it all along. “He’s not exactly sure what those snares might do when triggered—blow someone up, rip off a leg, sound an alarm, discreetly let you know someone has tracked through them… Can you squeeze some training in to go over it? By the way, what’s the status with his flowers? I forgot to ask when I spoke to him earlier.”
I stopped working the brush through my hair for a moment. His muscles lengthened and contracted as he pulled a beige shirt down over his abs.
Magical Midlife Invasion Page 4