“A break?” Mr. Tom said, clearly affronted. “As if I would need a break. What a thing to say to me! Kicking me out of my home? Turning away all your help and protection? Isolating yourself?” He shook his head. “No, miss, my place is here. Your parents will understand, don’t worry.”
I opened my mouth to ask if he’d missed what I’d just said about my parents, then closed it again. What was the point? We’d just go round and round.
Ulric, another of the live-in gargoyles, sat at the round kitchen table, eating a sandwich and looking at his phone. The midmorning sun highlighted his pink and blue spiked hair, the same colors as his gargoyle form. He looked up when we came in and straightened with a smile.
“Counting down the minutes, huh?” he asked.
“Yeah, they should be here anytime.” I pulled open the fridge doors, checking the snack supply. My dad had to have his cheese and salami.
A little thread of excitement wormed through the stressful anticipation of their arrival. Despite their hang-ups, I missed them. I hadn’t gone back to Los Angeles for Christmas because Jimmy had decided to stay in New York City with his new girlfriend, probably so he wouldn’t have to choose between Matt and me. Another reason I’d stayed was because I’d been told in no uncertain terms that my gargoyle entourage would be going with me if I traveled. (Even people as strange as my parents would have questions if I showed up with an entourage of men.) I didn’t call as often as I probably should, so this would be a nice chance to catch up.
I just wished they weren’t planning to stay so long.
“What about the salami?” I picked through the drawer in the fridge. “I don’t see any.”
“It’s here.” Mr. Tom pointed at the log hanging underneath one of the cabinets. “Please, miss, stop obsessing. I have everything. We are prepared.”
“I get it.” Ulric went back to his sandwich. “My parents are nuts. My mom has a cleaning complex. If she shows up at my place, she is cleaning within half an hour. Hands and knees, scrubbing the floor, you name it. It’s like she is a dirt crusader. You can never rest easy for fear you’ll make a mess and send her scurrying for the cleaning supplies. Don’t get me wrong, not having to clean for myself is amazing, but still, it’s a little much.”
“There is nothing to clean around here,” Mr. Tom said as he followed me out.
I scanned surfaces and shelves for anything I didn’t want the parents to notice. I’d already hidden a bunch of random wooden carvings of magical creatures and artifacts, locked the doll room, and ensured all of the weapons were put away in the attic, up a whole lot of steps I doubted my parents would climb. I hoped they wouldn’t, at any rate. The decorative wooden carvings above the archway in the foyer changed as I glanced around, shifting from a lovely scene of a meadow to a gruesome battle with dragons, tigers, and centaurs—swords drawn, heads rolling, and bodies piled high.
“Very funny, Ivy House. Change it back. Come on, you have to help. Try to be normal.”
“This is a magical house,” Cedric said as he walked down the stairs. One of two gargoyles who’d responded to my first summons for magical help (the other one had been dismembered), he was still here despite having fallen behind the others in flying prowess and protection. Austin hadn’t said it outright, but he’d hinted that maybe Cedric shouldn’t make the final cut. He wouldn’t say it, either. He offered his help and guidance when asked or when something was dire, but he left the major decisions regarding the team up to me, just like Ivy House did.
I kind of hated it. I always felt bad when I had to let people go. No one had lashed out, but somehow their disappointment was worse than anger.
“By definition,” Cedric said, “it is not normal.”
“Yes, thank you for the lesson on stating the obvious,” Mr. Tom said.
He was clearly jumping aboard the send-Cedric-home train, but I didn’t know what he was taking issue with—Cedric had just said exactly what Mr. Tom had been repeating for three days.
“I don’t feel like you all are giving this the weight you should be,” I muttered, entering the front sitting room and giving it a final once-over. “My parents are square. Do you know what square means?” I re-entered the foyer as Ulric joined us from the kitchen, Cedric now waiting at the bottom of the stairs. It felt like I was giving a pre-battle pep talk. “It was a term applied to the young people who followed the rules when the hippie scene was exploding. My parents have never done hallucinogens. They don’t watch fantasy-type shows, nor do they read fantasy-type books. They are so firmly entrenched in reality, and have been for so long, that none of this magical stuff will compute. They don’t have the imagination for it. They won’t understand an alternative lifestyle. We have to try to stay mainstream.”