“Sure, of course,” Jessie said, absently patting his chest, the house sweats much too small for his powerful frame. Mr. Tom needed to up his ordering game.
Austin Steele left, and Earl stepped up beside Jessie, his arms rigid at his sides in a way that spoke of his incredible pain. Niamh had to hand it to him for holding it together.
“Oh, excuse me. Where are my manners.” Jessie pouted at Mr. Tom again, like she would’ve an injured child. She rubbed his arm. “This is Mr. Tom. He’s the caretaker—”
Edgar jabbed Niamh’s side with a claw, making her jump. The magic of this place had restored much of the vampire’s strength and vigor, but maybe the years of being TOTF (too old to function) had gotten to him—he constantly forgot to retract claws and fangs after feeding.
He pointed at Earl’s wing as Jessie rambled on.
A shimmery haze floated in front of the leathery skin, slowly rotating around the tear. The magic sparkled, some of it soaking in while the rest continued to slowly revolve. Little by little, the tear stitched back together, as though unseen hands were sewing it.
“I’ll be buggered,” Niamh said quietly, watching the magic work.
That wasn’t Ivy House. Ivy House sped up the healing of the magical creatures attached to it, but it didn’t do the work itself. This magic was actively fixing his torn wing.
This had to be Jessie. This right here was proof that mothers developed powers. Right now, Jessie was ignoring her incredible fatigue and the recent attack on her life, while making a complete stranger feel welcome, comforting a man-child, and mending a boo-boo, all while making it look effortless. Not actually powers, her arse.
“If you don’t mind, I’ll just quickly go change. I’ll be down directly.” Jessie smiled at the pink-haired man, ran her hand down Mr. Tom’s arm for comfort, and jogged up the stairs in a hurry. The magical haze lingered, continuing to do its work.
“I’ll go get some refreshments.” Earl lurched away, his wing already half mended but still flopping as he moved.
The pink-haired man grinned at Niamh. “So you live in this creepy old house, huh?”
“No,” she said, not caring to make other people more comfortable. “I thought your kind didn’t talk much?”
“Most of us don’t. I’m the exception.”
“Pity,” Niamh said, finally getting his grin to fade.
“And which gargoyle are you?” Edgar asked, inching closer.
“He’s not the thinker of the bunch.” Niamh patted Edgar’s shoulder.
The grin was back. “The pink one.” The man pointed at his hair. “I got picked on mercilessly as a kid. Before guys wearing pink was cool, obviously.”
“Oh no, I’m so sorry. Bullying.” Edgar shook his head. “It’s not acceptable, even between shockingly violent creatures such as yourselves.”
One to talk, him.
The man shrugged. “I survived.” He put up his hands. “It made me tough.”
“Tough and probably emotionally imbalanced, I’d expect.” Edgar nodded sadly. The man’s smile slipped again.
“Well, anyway, I should get back before… Jessie? Do we call her by her actual name?”
“No, she was just being polite. Call her madam or master.” Niamh kept a straight face. “For special occasions, queen. But you knew that.”
“Do no such thing.” Earl walked back in with a silver tray laden with tea and water, wearing a somewhat wrinkled tux. He had his head held high, clearly fighting the pain, or maybe Jessie had numbed that. “She detests being called those names.”
“Kill-joy,” Niamh murmured.
“You may call her miss when in a professional setting, and Jessie when in a casual setting. Now, come along. Let’s all assemble in the large drawing room for introductions and lively chatter before we figure out sleeping arrangements.”
Niamh followed Earl. She didn’t care for introductions or the nuts and bolts of a company this large descending on Ivy House, but she did want to see Jessie’s face when she saw that other alpha’s human form. He was a fine thing if ever there was one. A real looker. If she’d finally abandoned her plan to date strictly Dicks, she’d do well to get her feet wet with a guy like that.12I stepped into a pair of slacks before shrugging into a nice sweater. Being that I’d called these people with my summonses, only to order them around, I figured I’d better look at least a little presentable. Not to mention poor Alek hadn’t made it.
My stomach swam as I checked my face in the mirror, something I immediately regretted. I looked like I’d been rolling around in the dirt.
It hadn’t taken Austin long to find Alek, both pieces of him. His head had rolled a good ways away from the body, and I’d thrown up a good ways away from that.
One of the gargoyles had taken Alek’s body back so he could have a proper burial—joke was on me there—and the large lead gargoyle had gestured me closer so I could get a ride home. I’d turned it down so I could ride with (or on) Austin, something the guy hadn’t seemed to understand, probably because I was supposedly made to fly. He hadn’t just nearly died from falling, though.