Niamh chewed on her lip for a moment, studying his face. “You want her to find the heart, you do?”
He paused for a moment. That question sounded like a trap. The woman could be cunning when she set her mind to it. Was she trying to get rid of him in the final hour?
He narrowed his eyes. “Don’t you?”
She sighed, and looked at the house again. “Ah sure, I don’t know. It’s a nice, quiet little life here. Austin Steele has things…peaceful. I wouldn’t mind just finishing out my days like this.”
Mr. Tom was struck mute for a moment. Of all the things he’d expected her to say, that was certainly not one of them.
“But shifters have a mostly human life span,” he said, now wondering if she wanted to step down. She was crotchety and stubborn and a real pill, but those very qualities made her Ivy House’s greatest asset. He’d realized early on that she was integral in keeping the riffraff away, and so he’d put his dislike aside for the betterment of all. Sometimes it was not easy, but he had managed. It was why, he suspected, the house had accepted him as its protector after he’d moved on from his last butler job. “He’s already forty-two. In another ten years, he might not be able to protect this territory. Strength fades, as does power, even for him.”
She sucked her teeth.
“Stop that, it’s disgusting,” he said, unable to help it. “When Austin Steele can’t protect this town, someone else will come through and try to claim it. That could be anyone. We might not like the new situation, but we’d be too old to run them out.”
“Speak for yourself.”
“Do you play hide and seek with your mirrors? You’re so old, Father Time pities you. No, the only thing that gives this town a chance to thrive is Ivy House being restored to its former glory. And the only way it—”
“Yes, yes, I know, the girl has to resurrect the house. Don’t lecture me as if I were a child.”
“She is a woman, not a mere girl, and why shouldn’t I treat you like a child? You’re acting like a child.”
She scoffed at him and turned to go back into her house. “Keep me updated, Mr. Tom.”
“What do you think I’m”—the door slammed in his face—“doing.”
Shaking his head, he noticed three rocks next to her chair. He kicked them with his boot, scattering them across the porch.
“I saw that!” The door swung open.
Mr. Tom took off running, adrenaline making him feel like he was half his age. He heard shoes scuffing wood, Niamh going after the scattered rocks.
“Think you’re protected now that there’s a possible chosen?” she hollered. A rock pelted him in the center of his back. “Stop messing with—” Another clicked off the cement beside him and bounced away. He zig-zagged to make it harder for her. “—my rocks!” Another smacked him in the leg.
Breathing hard, he stopped on Ivy House’s porch and turned back.
Niamh leaned against the railing, her arms stringy and her short hair white. She lifted her hand and showed him a backward peace sign, Europe’s equivalent of a middle finger.
Age certainly had a hold of her. She was slow, creaky, and sat more than was probably healthy. She was in the twilight of her years. He understood why she might want to retire from this line of service. He’d had those thoughts, once or twice. But he’d worried lack of purpose would propel him into a decline that would slide into death, and he wasn’t ready for the big Goodnight.
He hoped Niamh realized she wasn’t, either. In her prime she’d had mighty magic. Battle lords had feared her joining the opposing side. Royalty had invited her to their gilded tables.
Ivy House would restore all that.
He let himself into the house quietly, feeling Jessie off to the right. She’d already been in that room, but she’d missed the secret passageway. Maybe now she was giving it a second chance.
He’d lied. He knew the location of every hidden entrance leading into the veins of the house. Every protector did. Ivy House did not keep secrets from those it trusted. He couldn’t tell her about them, though. She’d discovered a few when she was here last, but from what Niamh had said in her phone message, Jessie only remembered two. Which was why he’d only claimed to have knowledge of two. He couldn’t help her find the heart again. She had to do that on her own to be worthy of the magic. It was part of the trial.
He drifted to the door, soundless.
“Don’t you have something to do?” she said without turning around.
He jumped, just as he had in the council room earlier when she’d stood at the center of the Circle. The thirteenth piece, surrounded by her powerful twelve. Twelve she and the house would choose to serve.
His spot was secured, he knew. Lucky number nine. Niamh was three, the numbers assigned by the house in order of importance, he guessed. Edgar was twelve, if he made it that long—the old vampire was starting to go fruit loops.
“Sorry, miss.”
“Please, just call me Jessie.”
“Sorry, master.”
She turned back to him, her brown hair up in a pony tail with some frizz around her head. A sprinkle of freckles covered her nose and cheeks, and lines gently creased her forehead. A track suit covered her once athletic frame, currently host to a bit more girth from motherhood or inactivity.
The signs of age didn’t diminish the bright intelligence in her sunburst eyes, the hazel flaring between long black lashes. Nor could it diminish the easy confidence in her bearing. Jessie clearly knew who and what she was, and liked herself more for it. She must’ve been a beauty in her youth, and her loveliness had blossomed with age. She would be a good choice for Ivy House, and for the magical elite.
“Right, okay, miss will be fine, then.” She shook her hand in annoyance and touched the mantelpiece against the side wall. Her delicate fingers trailed across the marble in reverence. Her gaze skimmed the faces of masters past. Her eyes lingered on a few of the legends.
He slipped out of the room and headed to the second floor. He needed to make sure it was spick and span so as not to slow her down. Despite Niamh’s strange misgivings, the train had left the station.
Now they had but to wait.
Thirteen
I’d always had a sense for danger, especially if Jimmy was in said danger, and had a knack for knowing when one of my friends was about to call. Those were my only claims to the supernatural, and they were small ones. But something was going on here. Something strange.
The marble was warm beneath my fingertips, as though there were a fire in the hearth. But there wasn’t.
The floor felt warm beneath my feet, too, even though I was wearing shoes.
I dropped my hand in front of the blackened insides of the fireplace, letting the weird phantom heat soak into my fingertips.
“Am I cracking up?” I whispered, straightening up again.
I felt a compulsion to make my way to the far side of the room. A decorative cabinet had been pushed up against a corner. Just like in the foyer, the carvings moved and twisted, exposing ornaments hidden within their depths. Faces and figurines. A chariot and a horse. A great oak tree.
Toward the side, the moving shapes and decorations swirled around one central point. Around a circle.
That circle seemed to have a pulse.
Memories surfaced, of the same thing in a different room.
Moving without intending to, I let my finger hover in the air. Slowly, not sure what would happen, if anything, I fit the pad of my finger into a tiny groove I hadn’t seen when I’d first inspected this cabinet.
I pushed.
Click.
The side of the cabinet popped open.
I stepped back, surprised. Excited.
I glanced around, but Mr. Tom wasn’t behind me this time. I pulled on the cabinet. It swung open on oiled hinges, revealing a small doorway into the darkness beyond.
I fished out my phone, staring into the dark depths, before switching on the phone flashlight and stepping forward.
Which was when the situation caught up to me.
When I was a kid, I would’ve rushed into that small space without looking back. I would’ve—and did—check out the bowels of the house with all the wonder of youth. And I’d nearly plummeted from a third-story trap door to my death.
Anything could be in that space. Bats. Poisonous spiders. Rats with huge fangs.
My phone’s battery said twenty-one percent and the time read 9:02. It was late, my battery was low, and this probably wasn’t a good idea. At least not at the end of the day.
I took a step back. Mr. Tom had said he knew about two passageways—was this one of them?
Curiosity pulled at me like a tow rope attached to a monster truck.
“Could be dangerous in there,” I reminded myself, staring into the depths.
A step forward.
Memories flooded me. Giggling. Pushing the button and gesturing for Diana to follow me. Running through the walls and coming out in another place altogether. It struck me that we’d never gotten lost within the walls. I’d never been turned around.
Two more steps.
I angled my flashlight, feeling the walls close in around me. Usually I wasn’t good in small spaces, but this was no problem for some reason. It felt safe. Comforting, almost.
“I’m definitely cracking up,” I whispered, the sound of my voice muted within the tight space.
The cabinet stayed open behind me, allowing in some additional light as I worked into the dark depths. When I turned a corner, though, external light was no longer needed.
Soft blue light filtered down from the corners by the ceiling, partially illuminating the tiny passageway, big enough for one and a half of me, or just one Austin. It provided enough light to see, although not so much that it blinded me to the surrounding darkness. It must’ve been recessed lighting of some sort. I shut off my phone light and noticed that no cobwebs stretched across the walls. Nothing skittered around my feet. It was just as clean as the rest of the house.
A little square room opened up off the passageway, which continued onward. On one side of the space sat a bench big enough for two skinny people. On the other side was an alcove with a picture frame at eye height and a little metal orb embedded within it.