Lizzie nodded but the quiet held.
Then everyone spoke at once and stopped again as fast.
Silence had a heartbeat. Loud. Questioning.
“Daddy, me and Wyatt like having you at the table like us,” Whitney said. “Dewcup, no, that’s my milk. Auntie Kenna, do you have a thimble?”
“It’s not time to sew, it’s time to eat, sweetie,” her mother said, eyeing Bastian as if he had grown horns.
“No, I want to fill the thimble with milk for Dewcup. She’s thirsty and I don’t want her to drown in my glass.”
Whitney’s parents exchanged looks, but McKenna got up, left the room, and returned with a thimble she washed before she gave it to Whitney.
The girl scooped milk from her glass and set it beside her plate while Dewcup clapped her hands and danced around it. Then the flaky faery stuck her tongue out at him and lifted her thimble in both hands, in the way he might lift a gallon of paint to sip from.
“I wanna sit next to Bastian,” Wyatt said, drawing attention from the wobbly thimble. Could Wyatt see Dewcup? Had he distracted everyone on purpose?
Bastian wished that McKenna, Lizzie, and Steve would remove their gazes from his person. He supposed he’d shocked them senseless, though he should be senseless, not them. Ignoring their stares, he made room for Wyatt beside him, surprised that he enjoyed children.
When that was settled, he tried to eat his lunch but stopped with the fork halfway to his mouth. He set it on his plate and sighed. “I fell because the hail on the roof made it slippery. Steve, did it hail the day you fell off a roof?”
“No hail,” Steve said. “But something slippery. You know, I’ve never heard of anyone falling off a roof and walking away like you did.”
Bastian sipped his milk.
McKenna put hers down and stared right at him. “We didn’t have any hail this summer, until you got here.”
“Has it hailed more than in a normal season?” Bastian asked.
McKenna scoffed. “More than in a normal decade.” She eyed him and turned to her friends. “You know, I think Mr. Wizard here cooked my apples!”
Steve rubbed his nose. “Please don’t share, McKenna. Lizzie and I really don’t want to know what you and Bastian do or don’t do with each other’s apples when you’re alone.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
McKenna did not seem to appreciate Steve’s comment, while Bastian wondered if anyone, human or supernatural, could have wanted, planned, or intended Steve’s fall. As McKenna’s contractor, Steve had nearly guaranteed her success, until he fell, which nearly guaranteed her failure.
Tonight, Bastian would look up the word “developer.”
Killian would not care whether McKenna failed or succeeded. No, for Steve, and for the woman whose house he was supposed to turn into a bed-and-breakfast, a human enemy made more sense.
Finally, McKenna and her friends tired of watching him and turned to their meals.
“You did an awesome job of painting those rooms,” Lizzie said as she cut Wyatt’s meat. “Where did you learn to paint like that?”
“I learned from a book.”
Steve scooped potatoes onto his plate. “You’re like Grandma Moses, just picking up a brush and going to town.”
“I have not gone anywhere and I cannot be a grandma, because I am a man.”
“I told you,” McKenna said. “Literal.”
“Well,” Steve chuckled. “You may well be a distant Flying Wallenda, but you’re also a design genius. You gave McKenna something unique to advertise, a jumping-off point. Oh, sorry. Bad pun. Unintentional. You gave McKenna something unique in the Dragon’s Lair, an edge in the tourist trade. I’m glad she found you.”
Bastian nodded, not sure what to say. “I am nearly out of paint. McKenna, can we buy more?”
“You’re using more than I expected, but I can see why, given the dimensional effect you’ve achieved.”
Lizzie shook her head. “I love the shimmer of the water and the pearlescent scales on the dragons.”
“I love the dragons,” Wyatt said. “They look like they could breathe fire.”
“Oh, they can.” Bastian faltered as the adults homed in on him again. “Real dragons breathe fire, Wyatt, and I am definitely painting real dragons.”
“You looked like a dragon flying off that roof,” Wyatt added. “Will you do it again after lunch?”
“No!” his parents shouted.
“You saw me fall?” Bastian asked, looking down at the boy.
“I was hiding behind Dad’s chair. I’m the one who ran in the house to get Mom to call the ambliance for you.”
“Ambulance,” his mother said, correcting him.
“Why, thank you, Wyatt.” A close call. Good thing he had healed before the ambulance arrived.
Whitney slurped a French fry, disappearing it into her mouth like a snake into the mouth of a dragon, while Dewcup used both hands to pull globs of catsup off the edge of Whitney’s plate and into her mouth. “I like the pictures of Dewcup on the walls you painted,” the little girl said.
Precisely why he would keep Dewcup away from his walls until after lunch when he dunked the catsuppy pest in soapsuds.
“What color paint do you need?” McKenna asked.
“It doesn’t matter. The colors give me the pictures.”
She released her breath. “Fine, then, first chance we get, we’ll tour hardware stores and snap up some more bargain paint.”
“I would like to see more of Salem.” He also looked forward to spending time alone with McKenna.
Lizzie cleared the table. “Steve, you need to take your medicine and stretch out for a while.”
“I wish I could fly like you, Bastian. I hate being treated like a kid. Anybody want to take a nap with me?” He wiggled his brows at his wife.
Bastian envied their teasing. He believed that McKenna would cut off something important that he still wanted to use if he teased her about napping together before she invited him to.
“No nap for me,” Wyatt said, jumping from his chair to race outside.
Whitney yawned. “I’m too big for a nap.”
“Maybe you can sit with Daddy for a while, Whitney,” Lizzie suggested, “and read him one of your books until he falls asleep; then you can get up.”
Bastian carried Steve to McKenna’s bed. “How is your head?”
“It should be better than yours, but it aches, though the chair you brought out helped my knees.”
They might have begun to heal if only a bit, Bastian thought. “Glad to hear it. Now, let your daughter take care of your head. Here, Whitney, put your hands on your daddy’s head like this to relieve the pressure.” Bastian placed the palms of his hands over the little girl’s and let his healing flow through her, so his magick would not be noticed. Though after his fall, the lack of questions surprised him.
Too bad their silence would not last long.
Steve fell asleep in less than a minute, Whitney shortly after, which allowed Bastian to keep his healing hands on the man’s head, for a while, then on Steve’s knees again.
When Bastian heard Wyatt’s distinctive step coming down the hall, he left the room and passed Wyatt heading for the bathroom, but Bastian stopped in the hall. From there, he could see and hear Lizzie and McKenna in the kitchen, but they could not see him.
“I’m just saying you can forget it where your handy hunk is concerned,” Lizzie said. “I think he’s got a thing for Steve.”
“Your husband and my handyman?” McKenna raised a hand in the air. “Figures.”
“Steve probably hasn’t figured it out yet,” Lizzie said, “and I could be wrong, but Bastian really seems to worry about Steve’s discomfort.”
“I need them to work together. I hope Bastian’s attention isn’t a problem for Steve.”
“Don’t be silly. Steve’s not homophobic. Bastian’s handy, strong, paints like an artist, and puts up with our kids. As for me, he’s fun to look at.”
McKenna elbowed her friend.
“Seriously, my husband’s been in pain for weeks, so if Bastian wants to alleviate some of it, let him. I just feel bad for you. I thought this was your shot. I wanted Bastian to fall for you.”
“I know you did.” McKenna sighed heavily. “Just goes to prove that I—”
“Hired a gay handyman, which means that you can finally let a man get close, without putting up your usual walls.”
“I suppose that’s a good thing,” McKenna said.
Bastian did not know why his being happy should upset everyone, but if it meant that McKenna would let him get close to her, he would be gay and happy all the time. He crossed the kitchen and gave them a nod. “I am going back to work on the roof,” he said, but he lingered on the porch for a bit.
“Do you think he heard us?” Lizzie asked.
“English isn’t his first language, so he might not have understood.”
“I hope he didn’t. I wouldn’t want to hurt his feelings.”
McKenna chuckled, a nice sound. “Does that man look fragile to you?”
“Edible. He looks edible,” Lizzie said.
“I know.” McKenna sighed. “Too bad he’s not our flavor. But you’re right. I feel like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders. I can enjoy his company without being afraid of getting hurt.”
He would never hurt her, Bastian thought with a frown, but at least she wanted to spend time with him.
He left the porch, saluted the spirits, and when he got to the side of the house, he took one satisfying leap to the roof.
He finished shingling that afternoon. Afterward, he read a book about painting the outside of a house and discussed it with Steve after his nap.
Steve said that the blistered paint, especially on the side facing the old harbor, would have to be burned off with a hot-air gun or a gas torch.
Hah, Bastian thought. What he would really need was the cover of darkness.
TWENTY-EIGHT
McKenna relaxed in Bastian’s company for the first time since he got here. She didn’t mind lingering in the back parlor with him at the end of a day, as long as he didn’t drink any wine.
She shivered at the memory of sleeping beside him that first night, the two of them naked and wrapped around each other. “Would you like some wine?” she asked and nearly bit her tongue.
What was wrong with her?
His eyes narrowed as he studied her in the way he might study a chessboard before his next move. “Yes, please,” he said, his voice husky.
The implication went against everything Lizzie said about his sexuality. McKenna shrugged and considered his answer as something of a dare from the universe. “I’ll be right back.”
He followed her into the kitchen to carry the tray to the living room for her.
“My hero. And thank you for carrying Steve down to the basement after his nap, so he could show you how to fix the wiring. I like having electricity again.”
“Steve said it is a temporary fix, until we have time to do it right for the inspection.” Bastian set the tray on the floor beside them. “He is a smart man, Steve, though I prefer our evening light coming from the fire alone.”
“No fire needed. It’s balmy out tonight. Today’s hailstorm only lasted long enough to slide you off the roof. Speaking of which, you said we’d talk after Steve and Lizzie left. What happened after you fell? I’m no doctor, but I could have sworn you had broken bones.”
He scratched an ear. “Sprained, maybe.”
“And you healed yourself? Is that a New Age thing?”
“Okay.”
She watched him closely. “Like Reiki?”
Bastian’s worry disappeared, she noticed. “Yes,” he said. “Reiki.”
“Or more like Zwami?” she suggested, testing him with a fake word.
“Exactly!”
She laughed. “That’s such a crock.”
“A crock of what?”
“Never mind. You’ll take the expression literally and we’ll be here all night.”
“We will be here all night, McKenna.” He raised his wineglass.
Dangerous territory. She raised her own. Their glasses clinked, and anticipation shot through her. She shivered but came quickly back to sanity. “Tell me what really happened today.”
“You saw for yourself. I heal fast. My hands against my wounds make them heal faster. It’s a gift. An unusual gift.”
Given the fact that he broke through her foundation wall and carried Steve around like he might carry Whitney, she granted that he did have some unusual qualities. “I reserve the right to question you further,” she said.
He nodded. “Reserve away.”
She knew him better now and no longer felt the need to put distance between them. As a matter of fact, she inched closer, slowly, so he wouldn’t notice. He sat cross-legged, his back against an overstuffed wing chair, she with her legs to the side, her skirt covering them.
The space between them made a perfect aisle for Jaunty to walk through, head high, tissue box at an angle.
Her psycho cat crawled into Bastian’s lap, settled in, and began to purr. Bastian stroked the cat exactly the way she tended to. Then her brazen feline rolled onto her back and presented Bastian with her burgeoning belly.
Bastian looked up in dismay. “Is she crazy?”
“She sure is, but right now, she wants you to rub her belly. She’s tired from galloping through the house as if she had a firecracker tied to her tail.”
Bastian scratched her cat’s ears with one hand and rubbed her belly with the other. “I don’t know why she likes me.”
McKenna cleared her throat as jealousy reared its ridiculous head. Jealous of her own cat? She’d just bypassed Jaunty in the pathetically-starved-for-attention department. Get a grip, she told herself. “Bastian, you’re pampering her to within an inch of her life. Second, you’re not calling her Snack anymore. Besides, Bast is a goddess who’s, like, the patron saint of cats. And you’re named for Bast.”
Confusion marred the chiseled precision of Bastian’s scarred features. “Bast? A patron saint?”
“I know, it sounds blasphemous,” she said, “but I’m a halfling, Celtic Scot witch blood on my mother’s side and French Canadian Catholic on my father’s, and I got both belief systems spoon-fed to me from birth, which makes me sort of a mixed bag religion-wise. I joined the church of rebellion at an early age and I worship there regularly.”
“Glad to hear it.” He abandoned Jaunty’s ears to sip his wine. “My sweet tooth has never been happier. Brownie?” he asked, indicating the plate on the tray.
“Go ahead. More sweets for you.”
He bit into one of the thickly frosted treats, Gran’s recipe. “I did not think life could get any sweeter,” he said.
“Glad to have someone appreciate my baking.”
“Is that what you like to do best? Cook and bake? From what I’ve learned about bed-and-breakfasts, you will be doing both often.”
“My guests will need to eat, so I’ll cook for them. Lizzie’s a better cook. She can make a piece of beef feed an army, and they’ll think it’s incredible. She cooks and bakes because she likes to. I do it because I have to.”
“Then what do you like, McKenna, or maybe I should ask you what you want more than anything? Besides opening your bed-and-breakfast, do you have any other quests in life?”
She raised her knees and rested her chin on them. “Funny you should ask. A few days ago, turning my house into a bed-and-breakfast to save the family heritage was all I wanted.”
“And today?”
“I still want to save the farm—as cliché as that sounds—but I want something else now. People are more important than houses and farms, aren’t they?”
“Though people are blips in a universe bigger than any of us can imagine and of little import to the magickal whole, I have come to believe that, yes, people are everything.”
“Steve is under investigation for insurance fraud.�
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“What does that mean?”
“Bottom line, it means they’re going to lose their house. The insurance company thinks he threw himself off somebody’s roof on purpose.”
“He should tell them that he did not.”
“You sure don’t come from here. Anyway, he tried. But they’ll only talk to his lawyer, and he can’t afford a lawyer. Lizzie’s twins are due in a few weeks, so she can’t be packing up a house and looking for another place in her condition.”
“Define twins.”
“Two babies who are born together because they were carried by one mother at the same time.”
“Oh. Ohhhh. Your friend Lizzie will have two new babies?” He used his hand to make an imaginary mound of his stomach. “No wonder she is so . . . full of babies.”
Bastian charmed the hell out of her; no other way to describe it. “Right. So how does a family of six find an apartment for peanuts?”
“You can pay with peanuts here?”
McKenna hung her head and sighed. “You should read the dictionary in your spare time.”
“I will do that tonight.”
The way Bastian watched her over the rim of his wineglass made her self-conscious. “So what you want,” he said between sips, “is to invite Steve, Lizzie, and their children to live with you?”
“How did you know that?”
“I know what a generous heart you have.”
Her hot face shocked her. Men did not usually compliment her. “I want them here, yes, but if my bed-and-breakfast doesn’t get enough paying guests, I’ll lose the place, and none of us will have a home.”
“You will have guests. You already advertised the Dragon’s Lair as Steve suggested, yes?”
“Yes, everywhere I could that didn’t cost a fortune. The more paying guests we get, the more likely it is that I can save the farm, and the fewer bedrooms there’ll be for family. It’s a win/lose situation.”
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