Magical Midlife Meeting (Leveling Up #5)(37)

The shifters walked up the sides of the group, having stayed in the back to watch our six. Now they filed to the front and went through the door.

“Let them have a quick look,” Austin murmured, his voice low and rough. “They’ll be able to smell it if people have been tampering with things.”

“What about magic? They can’t see if any magical traps are laid.”

“Elliot Graves wouldn’t have gone through all this trouble to kill you so quickly. We’ll be safe until the dinner tomorrow night.”

Cyra walked through the door, followed shortly afterward by Niamh.

A few moments passed by, and I could feel Cyra and Niamh having a look around the room just beyond the door.

A moment later, Niamh called out, “Uh-oh, Earl, the bad guy has shown you up.”

“What is she talking about?” Mr. Tom pushed his way to the front of our group and walked into the room.

Cyra’s disembodied voice floated out. “I volunteer to sample everything first, as the official poison control.”

“Oh, heavens,” Mr. Tom said, and I could tell he was deflated.

I couldn’t wait any longer. I wiggled out of Austin’s grip.

A large room opened up before me, with a couple of conversation areas formed by cream couches and chairs clustered around coffee tables, a pool table, and darts in the back, next to the open-concept kitchen. There were little side tables throughout the room, accompanied by more stools for sitting.

Every available surface, it seemed, was laden with goodies, from the chocolate-covered strawberries I’d craved on the plane, to cantaloupe wrapped in prosciutto, a selection of breads and cheeses, a platter of sandwiches, nuts, other fruits, and a bowl of what looked like truffles that Cyra was currently sampling.

“Mmm.” She tilted her head back and looked at the arched ceiling. “This is delicious.”

A long table was pushed against the brick wall that held the doors. The spells were there, ready to lure me into some sort of trap, probably. An engraved invitation informed me of the details of tomorrow’s dinner, including where and when, the number of people I could bring (one guest and a food taster), and the dress code. The last item on the table was a manila folder with the label “maps and accessible areas.” It held details about our quarters, directions to a garden, exits (with a note about how heavily warded they were), a bar, and other amenities, like something you’d see in a huge hotel at a vacation destination.

“Here, Jessie,” Niamh called out, opening the fridge, “maybe ye better have Elliot Graves stock the plane on the way back.”

“I make one simple mistake…” Mr. Tom murmured, looking over the selections with an expression of abject horror.

“This all seems safe,” Cyra said, munching as she crouched down to a low table holding a selection of cheeses. “Can you imagine if we had a dog? It would roam through here and make short work of all this.”

Hollace frowned at her then shook his head, strolling to a fondue stand on a large table in the corner. “This is swank. They really went all out.”

“He plays a great host.” I ignored the food as I looked over the sheet describing the layout of this collection of rooms. Austin stepped beside me, poring over it with me.

Each person would have their own quarters, the rooms mostly small, with a bed, a small table, and a chair with what looked like a reading light perched over it. I doubted the drawing was totally accurate, but it served its purpose. All of those were connected by a hallway, and they formed a sort of rough circle around a large room in the middle. Mine, apparently.

“Does it matter where we put people?” I asked Austin.

“I’ll check it out. There might be a rear exit that isn’t mentioned. If not, then the strongest go in the front as our first line of defense. Are you going to do one of those spells?”

I handed the paper off to him and grabbed up the spells. “I want to look at them first. Who knows what they actually do?”

The top popped on a can, and I knew Niamh had found a beer.

“Well, miss, it seems I must go the way of Edgar and ask that you retire me,” Mr. Tom said, standing in front of me with his head held high. “As your butler, I must own that I have failed you, and now I’ve been shown up by our biggest enemy. It is a bleak day, I can assure—”

“No.” I held up my hand. “Not now, Mr. Tom. I have enough to handle as it is.”

I took a deep breath and made my way to the largest room, although I grabbed a bacon-wrapped shrimp on the way. Some things were worth being poisoned over, and bacon was one of those things.

Once there, I sighed in utter defeat. Mr. Tom-level defeat.

A bed with a dark gray frame took up the middle of the space, pushed against a slate-gray wall.

The bed faced a fireplace, which had to be either decorative or magical, with a TV mounted above it on a sort of column with rock facing, similar to the style of Austin’s house. A plush cream rug with cloud-gray squares etched through it covered the floor, and there was a seating area off to the side of the bed. An enormous gift basket wrapped in a red bow sat on the cloth-covered bench at the end of the bed.

Heart sinking, knowing this was going to be amazing, I gingerly sat beside the basket and pulled it closer. The first thing I spied was a blue box with Tiffany & Co. written across the front. Another with Gucci. A third with a name I didn’t recognize, all stacked on a bunch of other goodies.