Magical Midlife Meeting (Leveling Up #5)(17)

“Mr. Tom keeps yelling at the basajaun to have manners, and that the garden is no place for flatulence”—Austin laughed harder—“but the basajaun ignores him, lifts up a cheek, and then riiip.

It’s crazy.”

Austin transferred the shrimp to a plate before mincing garlic, his knife descending on the cutting board a mile a minute. He added that to the pan with more butter. “That house is…one of a kind.”

“Yeah, it is. But if I had a choice, I’d take the basajaun to Elliot’s house, flatulence and all.”

“Ask him.”

“I mean…” I shrugged, my humor dying. “There’s a chance none of us will come back, Austin. He knows we’re going. If he wants to come, he’ll mention it. I don’t want to put him in a position where he feels like he can’t say no.”

“I think you’re projecting onto that creature.” Austin added wine, then lemon juice, the liquid sizzling in the heat. He sprinkled in some crushed red pepper. His pecs flared and the muscle along his side rippled. This was, literally, the best show in town, and it came with a happy ending. Two happy endings, if I counted being bent over the table afterward. “If he didn’t want to go, he wouldn’t sugarcoat it,” he continued. “He usually only works with his own kind.”

“Yet he moved really far away from most of his family.”

“I know what that’s like.”

Austin turned to the pasta machine, and I got up to help. An extra pair of hands to feed and catch the dough-turned-pasta wasn’t necessary, but it made things easier.

I lifted my eyebrows. “I just don’t think I can ask that of him. He’s a house friend, not a crew member, you know?”

Austin leaned down and kissed me on the temple. “You’re a pure soul. Let’s hope Elliot doesn’t tarnish that when you kill him.”

I couldn’t help thinking, Let’s hope I don’t balk when I get my chance to end it.





SEVEN

I HELD my belly as I headed to the deck with my glass of wine, the tangerine sun kissing the horizon.

Fuchsia, violet, and deep purple streaked the sky. A shape lingered on the ground below, hunched over the dimming blue and butter yellow meadow flowers that Austin had planted in honor of our first date. The spritz of a spray bottle caught the dying light as the water misted onto the plants.

I laid my free hand on the deck banister, looking down at Edgar. “Hey.”

He snapped straight and spun, jamming the spray bottle behind his back. “Miss Jessie, hello. How was dinner? It smells divine.”

I grinned down at him as Austin came out behind me, his guitar in one hand and a glass of wine in the other. He didn’t seem fazed by seeing Edgar—he just set his things down so he could move the barbecue out of the way and pull the circular gas firepit from the side.

“It was so good.” I turned my face skyward. “Fresh pasta is a treat I’ll never get used to, and the sauce just melted in my mouth.”

“Oh, fantastic. How about dessert? Did you have that?”

Being a vampire, Edgar’s food source was a vein. He had no use or even memory of anything else. He knew I loved Austin’s cooking more than anything, though, and never passed up a chance to let me gush about it.

“He had some homemade chocolate chip cookies on hand.”

“With walnuts?”

“No walnuts. He made them for me the other night.”

“Oh, good, yes. You hate walnuts. It’s the fastest way to ruin a chocolate chip cookie, I remember you saying.”

Austin put wood into the firepit and lit it before sitting in his chair and lifting the guitar into his lap. He strummed the strings, the notes rising into the peaceful evening.

“What are you doing down there?” I asked Edgar, half wishing the rest of Ivy House had come with him. I loved Austin’s house, but the more time I spent here, the more I missed my crew, the strange antics of the house itself. Most importantly, I felt safe on Ivy House property in a way I couldn’t feel safe anywhere else in the world.

“Or maybe I just need to remodel and modernize Ivy House and have Austin over more,” I murmured to myself, chewing on my lip, wishing I could just transplant Austin’s whole house onto Ivy House property. I’d have to install a mountain, though. Because that was something people did every day…

“What’s that?” Edgar called up.

“Huh?” Austin paused in playing his guitar.

I shook my head. “Sorry, my mind is wandering. What’s in the squirt bottle, Edgar? You’re not trying to create attack flowers, are you?”

“Ha-ha-ha…” Edgar’s uncomfortable laugh wasn’t fooling anyone. “No, Jessie, not to worry.

Though, now that you mention it…”

“No, Edgar.”

“Yes, Jessie, of course. Of course you’re right. The sunflower didn’t go well. But then again, it’s not like it had legs. It couldn’t actually chase anyone.”

“I love that little patch of meadow flowers, Edgar, I don’t want to have to call the basajaun in to eat it.”

“Yes, Jessie. Right. Though…the alpha does have a lovely singing voice. Better than the artists on my eight-tracks.”

“Eight-tracks?”