Magical Midlife Dating: A Paranormal Women's Fiction Novel (Leveling Up Book 2)

by K. F. Breene

  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?”

  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 th
e 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—”