“Alpha,” the basajaun said. “I ask leave to travel the hidden areas of your territory. In return, I will grant you the same courtesy within mine. A trade. Do you accept?”
Austin straightened up, his body tight again, although this time it was not a display. “A trade. I agree.”
The basajaun bent to a knee and bowed his head. Austin bent his head in return.
“Hi, Jessie,” the basajaun said in a loud whisper as he straightened up, offering me a little side wave. “It is me, the basajaun from the mountain. Remember me?”
My eyes had definitely rounded, I could feel it. I barely got in a nod. Dumb as rocks, absolutely.
“With the alpha’s leave, I am here to reap the rewards of our trade. The broken ankle, remember?”
I nodded again, thankful he seemed to think Ivy House flowers on the property different than me bringing him the same flowers. I was starting to suspect Mr. Tom was dead right about his intellect, and that was okay by me.
“Ivy House lands are not part of my territory,” Austin said, his voice hard. This was probably his professional face among very dangerous creatures. I was glad for it. I didn’t want to accidentally break some obscure basajaun rule and get my head spiked.
“Oh. Well, if it is all the same with you, I would like to keep the trade. Just in case I’d like to wander, you know.”
Austin nodded. “Don’t get seen, if you can help it.”
“Yes, of course.” The basajaun pulled out a bit of his sweatshirt, as though it was the key to staying undercover. He and Mr. Tom clearly went to the same spy school. To me he said, “We should meet up to spook a couple of hikers. Remember when we talked about that? You can shove them with a little magic, and I can allow them to see me for a moment.” He waved it away. “You are busy and I am late for my flowers. We will speak on it another time.”
The entire bar was dead silent in the basajaun’s wake. Mouths hung open, eyes remained wide, and someone had fainted.
“How’d he know my name?” I asked into the hush. “And who did he steal those clothes from?”
“See there?” Niamh looked over at Sasquatch. “He’s supposed to be hairy, and since he lives in the wild, he’s allowed to stink. Yer just takin’ the piss, you are. Ye got the hair and the stench without the benefits. Now don’t ye feel dumb? Maybe ye should wash once in a while.”
“How does anyone stand you?” he grumbled.
“They don’t. Which is why they don’t sit next to me. Ye certainly got brains to match his, I’ll give ye that.” Niamh took a sip of her cider. “Wanker.”
“How the hell are we going to hide his presence around town?” Austin muttered as he walked by.
I smiled and shook my head. God, my life was weird, but the people around me cared about my success and kept things interesting. Good or bad, dangerous or safe, weird or normal, I was choosing my own way, and it was about time.Later that night, after I pretended I was going to the bathroom and instead ran out the back door of the bar so Niamh wouldn’t order me another drink, I made it home to Edgar screaming.
The gargoyles filed in around me immediately, not letting me into the house.
“It’s fine, it’s just Mr. Tom, Ulric, and Edgar in there,” I said, pushing through.
Those three stood at the back of the house near the kitchen, Mr. Tom shushing Edgar while Ulric looked on with concern.
“What is it?” I asked, running to them. “What happened?”
“We’ve been robbed!” Edgar screeched. “They’re gone. They’re all gone!”
“What’s gone?” I considered bracing my hand on his bony shoulder, then thought better of it. I swayed into Ulric. “Oops. Sorry, don’t mind me. The basajaun came into the bar, and he spoke to me like we were old buddies, and then everyone was awestruck and bought me drinks—it was cah-razy. Anyway, sorry, Edgar, this is your show. Why are you crying? I didn’t even know vampires could cry.”
“Why wouldn’t they be able to?” Ulric asked with a grin, his hand on my shoulder, stabilizing me.
“Shh, I’m good.” I removed his hand and drifted into Jasper, who’d just shown up on the scene. He still lived at the house, and I still meant to get to know him, but he was so quiet that I constantly forgot about him. If Mr. Tom was white noise, Jasper was a potted plant that had just shown up one day, never seemed to need water, and seemed content to be part of the scenery. He was the gargoyle equivalent of a succulent. “I don’t know, because water doesn’t flow out of their eyes or something? They don’t have emotion, maybe?”