“Give me a minute,” he murmured, hoping the house would hear him. It knew he was there because of his magical connection to it, but Jess wouldn’t. Not until he stepped over that invisible line. Out of habit, or maybe a respect for his privacy, she only tapped in to their magical connection if she was worried about him, or worried about herself and counting on him.
He hadn’t been so respectful of her privacy. He had his side of that magical connection open twenty-four seven, mostly out of fear for her safety. Without an established pack to watch the borders of the territory, she was open for attack. He’d gotten that wake-up call a few months ago when a few teams of mages had waltzed in, watched the town, and made off with its prize. Jess. He would not close the connection until she was ten times more secure.
The other reason? He didn’t really like thinking about that.
He hooked his thumbs through his belt loops and turned toward the street, taking in the nice day and noticing the trunk on Jessie’s parents’ car wasn’t latched properly. As he walked over to inspect it, he saw the handmade bumper sticker—a piece of computer paper cut into a strip and taped on. It read:
I leave the trunk open
so the wife can breathe.
Surprised laughter bubbled up through him. Those two were a trip, so much different than the serious household he’d grown up in.
“Hey.” Niamh stepped out onto her porch, an empty sack in hand for carrying their clothes once they shifted. “What’re ye at?” She closed her door behind her. “Ye look like ye just got stabbed with a pitchfork, so ye do.”
He ambled toward her, in no hurry, soaking in the sun and the quiet street. “I’m good. Need to work with Jess on the new spell Edgar pulled from the book. Did he mention it?”
“Yes.” She paused next to her chair and checked her rocks. Seeing they were accounted for, she walked down her porch steps and across a little patch of cultivated grass Edgar must manage, because no way would Niamh be bothered. “He wouldn’t stop going on about it. He’s delighted the alpha of the town called him directly. He kept saying that—the alpha of the town—as though ye aren’t also a part of Ivy House. He thinks of ye as royalty, the muppet. The hemming and hawing out of him would drive a person mad.” She rolled her eyes. “Did ye hear?” Niamh commenced a slow pace across the street toward Ivy House.
“About what?”
“Jessie’s mom. Got startled by the pink-haired one and threw a potato at his head.”
Niamh knew Ulric’s name, but since he wasn’t officially on the team, she treated him like an intern. It was actually quite hilarious.
“She tried to hit Ulric with a potato…” There were at least five follow-up questions Austin needed to ask, but his mind split in too many directions to grab one of them.
“Yeah. He startled her, and she grabbed the closest thing at hand.” Niamh huffed out a laugh. “Would’ve hit him in the face, too. Slow, though. He saw it coming.”
“She’s an older Jane.”
“Yeah. Who hasn’t battled. Good aim, though. And did ye hear the el’ lad the other day? Gettin’ ready to grab a rock himself and help me with those tourists?” She nodded slowly. “Jessie comes from fire.”
“We could’ve guessed.”
“It’s funnier to see it in action.”
He had to concede that.
“Edgar told you what the spell was?” he asked her, getting them back on track.
“Yeah, the tripwire. He’s thinking the base spell is a simple tattletale situation. Anyone crosses the line, and the spell weaver—Jessie, obviously—will be alerted. The trespasser won’t be the wiser.”
“The base spell. So she could alter it, then?”
“He thinks so, yeah.” She paused at the threshold to Ivy House’s property line, turning back to look over the street like he’d just done. He wasn’t sure why she was dragging her feet.
He wasn’t sure why he was, either.
“The text will draw out her ability to create the spell, but she’ll need to alter it on her own,” Niamh said.
“That’s for the best. Start with something non-dangerous, and then work at changing it through study and practice.”
She made a dismissive gesture. “All this learning magic is bollocks. It would be easier if she came already knowing everything so she could start throwing her weight around.”
“Weren’t you the one talking about retiring?”
“That was before I got the energy of youth—”
“Martha!” Pete’s voice rang out across the front yard, originating from an open window on the second floor. “Martha, your glasses are in here!”
“Oh, how’d you get that window open?” Martha’s face appeared behind the screen. “I tried earlier and it wouldn’t budge.”
“I didn’t open it. It was open when I got up here. You must’ve gotten it open and forgot. Do you know how to work that shower?”