Magical Midlife Meeting (Leveling Up #5)(41)

Niamh finally straightened up, wearing a pantsuit like Cyra’s but with a holster for a flask. She had a pink pocket square.

“Well, wait,” Mr. Tom said, looking around, his gaze finally landing on Edgar. “Even you, Edgar? Everyone has a pocket square but me?”

“Well, if ye weren’t so busy hemming and hawing, about messing up the plane ride,” Niamh said, walking over to stand beside Brochan, “ye would’ve heard us plan it out, ye gobshite.”

“Each species gets a color,” Brochan said. “Yours is white.”

Mr. Tom straightened himself a little higher. “I’m no ordinary gargoyle. I am also the butler and personal assistant to the heir of Ivy House.”

“Well now, personal assistant, is it?” Niamh asked, a twinkle in her eyes. “What, then, do ye personally assist? Her travel arrangements?”

“Okay, okay, enough.” I rubbed my temples. “Mr. Tom, wear whatever color you want. Or none. It doesn’t matter. You have wings; they’ll get the idea.”

He lifted his nose. “I will wear white in solidarity.”

“Then why were ye on about yer extra failed tasks that ye do?” Niamh hollered at his retreating backside. “Jaysus, Mary, ’n’ Joseph, that gargoyle would drive ye to drink.”

“That’s your gift, then?” I pointed at her holster and flask.

“Aye.” She patted it. “The finescht whiskey that ever graced the land, kept nice and handy.”

“Which whiskey is that?” Brochan asked.

“No idea. I didn’t recognize the name and can’t taste the difference. But the note said it was the best, and so I’ll believe it. It sounds better than saying I got some eld slop he threw my way and don’t care regardless.”

Austin emerged last, his suit molding to his perfect body, his swagger on point, and his face hard. The alpha was ready for a gentlemanly battle of wits.

He looked around the room, checking out everyone’s clothes, before his gaze landed on me. His once-over lingered in a way Brochan’s hadn’t. He didn’t nod at the end, just took his place by my side and quietly waited for Mr. Tom to finish fiddling with his pocket square and join us.

“What took you?” I asked him.

“You won’t heal me. I’m still sore. I was stretching.”

I could feel his humor filter through the link even though it didn’t show on his face. I hadn’t healed myself either, and I was still a little sore today despite my fast healing abilities. I liked it. I liked the reminder of what Austin had done to me last night, how often he’d done it, and how hard. We’d kept at it into the small hours of the morning, only stopping to eat and lay a tripwire spell. I’d decided it was too risky to use one of the warding spells.

Even after all we’d done last night, I still craved Austin, the need for him unquenched, my desire still pulsing hot.

“Okay. My apologies.” Mr. Tom filed in, holding a tray of shot glasses filled with the revealing potion I’d made at home and packed. It would hopefully help us see any mages using an invisibility spell.

If we got out of this, I would set to work trying to figure out a potion that allowed me to see invisible people while being invisible myself. It didn’t make sense that that wasn’t a common thing. It had to be doable.

Sebastian would have been able to help me with that, I suspected, a thought that steeled my resolve.

“We all know our tasks?” I asked after everyone had drunk it, touching Austin’s pants pocket and feeling the crinkle of the map. Hollace had asked the service staff for more copies, and they’d complied without complaint, giving us a stack. We’d break off into teams of three or four, each of which would scout a specific section of the tunnels before reporting back and sharing notes.

Everyone murmured their assent as Edgar drifted in closer.

“I’m still unclear as to what to do about trouble,” Edgar said.

“Try to avoid it, and if you can’t, fight back,” I said. “The Mages’ Guild can’t get in here, and Elliot Graves is on their list of top offenders—it doesn’t sound like he’ll report anyone. Don’t start anything, but go ahead and finish it.”

I waited for nods from everyone before I turned and pulled down the tripwire spell. We marched down the hall to the main entrance, utterly silent but for the swish of our clothes and my footfalls. I still wasn’t very good at being quiet.

A man sat in one of the blue velvet chairs, an open newspaper in front of him and his ankle over his knee. A steaming white mug sat on the table by his elbow. Service staff bustled around outside, sweeping up debris left over from my episode, or maybe someone else’s. The glass double door hadn’t been fixed.

“Hello,” I said demurely as we crossed the entranceway to the other opening that would lead way back into the mountain, or so we figured based on the twisting length of the tunnels. I was in a wing of my own, it seemed. I wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.

The man pulled down a corner of his paper, and I realized belatedly that I probably shouldn’t have said anything at all. A lifetime of politeness with strangers had gotten the better of me.

His cold blue eyes assessed me for a moment before flicking to those around me, lingering the longest on Austin. I continued my progress undaunted. Mostly. Staring like that was incredibly rude.