“You summoned us here. You are now under our protection. We cannot leave you with—”
I turned to Cedric with wide, crazy eyes and balled fists.
“Go,” Mr. Tom said quickly and loudly, waving his arm through the air like he was calling off a fleet of jets. “Go!”
“I can take it.” Cedric held his ground, but I could tell he felt the magic seeping out around me, just like Mr. Tom obviously did. I could feel it too, feeding on my anger and annoyance. Just this side of controllable.
“Are you sure?” I asked in a low voice.
Cedric’s stare bored into mine, his body braced in stubborn indignation. He did not want to bend his will, and a part of me knew this was a hallmark of his species. Of my species, now. If I relented, or backed down, he wouldn’t respect me as much. Worse, he’d see it as a green light to walk all over me. Guys like him, gargoyles, needed a firm hand.
Which was probably why Mr. Tom ruled my life and got all up in my business. I’d mistaken stubbornness for weirdness. In fairness, I hadn’t been completely wrong.
“Go home. Now,” I said, brooking no argument, wondering what I’d do if he refused.
He didn’t move at first, a block of muscle facing me on the walkway like we were in a Wild West showdown. Finally, grudgingly, he nodded, shifted his weight to the right, and picked up a foot to move on.
“You too,” I called behind me. Alek didn’t need to be told twice, clearly the less dominant of the two. Their large backs draped in shadow and their wings fluttering down their legs, they headed in the direction of Ivy House. They did not look back, and they clearly were not happy about this turn of events.
“Very well done, miss. Very well done.” Mr. Tom nodded, then stepped back against the wall, waiting for me.
“You too, Mr. Tom,” I said.
“Oh, don’t be silly. Someone will have to walk you home. As soon as your date unfreezes from his fear-induced paralysis, he’ll sprint out of here.”
“I don’t need someone to walk me home.” I took a step toward Ron, who was watching my exchange with Mr. Tom with a pale face.
“I’m already here. I might as well,” Mr. Tom said. “I just baked a lovely chocolate cake. Doesn’t that sound nice?”
“Ron?” I gave him what I hoped was a disarming smile. “Sorry about that.”
He shook himself out of his stupor. His smile looked more like a grimace. “It’s getting late. I think I’ll head out.”
My heart sank. “Sure, yeah.” I shrugged out of his jacket.
He held out his hand to stop me. “That’s okay. It’s a cold walk home. Keep it.”
“Oh, but…”
“It was a nice time!” He jogged backward, hit a rock with his heel as the paved walkway turned into the dirty parking lot, and fell onto his butt. Dust puffed up around him. “Ha! Oops. Clumsy.” He pushed to his feet, gave me a thumbs-up, and sideways-walked toward a Ford Explorer. “Okay, see ya. I’ll call you!”
“He won’t call,” Mr. Tom said, watching the scene. “He’s so desperate to get away, he’s going to lose a thirty-dollar jacket.”
“Yes, Mr. Tom, I am aware, thanks.” My heart sank further and I sagged. “He was cool, too. He seemed like a really nice guy.”
“It looked like someone hit him in the face with a two-by-four.” Mr. Tom clasped his hands behind his back. “Repeatedly.”
I tsked. “No, it did not! He was fine looking. Average.”
“Ugly. C’mon, I know what will cheer you up. But first…” He peeled the jacket from my shoulders. “We don’t know where this has been, dirty Dick. He might have fleas from that wild sort of growth on his face. I’ll just leave it back in the restaurant.” When he returned, he gestured me toward town, then turned us in the direction of the bar.
“Are you going to drop me off with Niamh?”
“No, as a matter of fact, I am going to have a drink with you. I can’t wait to tell Niamh that she failed.”
“She didn’t fail—she picked a really good guy that I would’ve hit it off with if it hadn’t been for the Doobie Brothers busting up the party.”
“The…who?”
“Never mind.” I sighed. “Back to the drawing board. At least this one leaves hope that there are decent guys on the online dating sites. I just need Niamh to find them for me.”
“It doesn’t matter who is on those sites. They’ll never work for you, miss. All of your Dick dates are going to end like that.” We’d reached the road crossing, but Mr. Tom held his arm out in front of my chest, like I was a child, waiting for a car to pass. Once the way was safe, he swept his hand wide and waited until I stepped off the curb to follow. He was in rare form this evening. “That isn’t your world anymore, miss. You have to accept that. Neither will you get the privacy of your old life. You are the chosen and heiress of Ivy House. With that comes expectation and privilege. You will always be accompanied now. Our job is to protect you, and my kind”—he palmed his chest—“do that better than most. Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.”
“I haven’t gotten used to you…”
“Lovely, it seems Niamh is rubbing off on you,” he said dryly. “What joy is mine.”
The bar was slow for a Saturday night, but the casual atmosphere and the faces I was starting to recognize cheered me up after the botched encounter with Ron. I found Niamh where she always sat, three-quarters of the way down by the support beam, hunched over her cider. The seat to her right was empty, and the one beyond that was taken by my dear friend Sasquatch.
Austin glanced up from a drink he was pouring, noticed Mr. Tom with me, and a series of expressions crossed his face so quickly that I nearly didn’t catch them—regret, relief, surprise, apprehension. He dipped his face back down without nodding hello.
Paul smiled and met us near Niamh. “Hi, Jacinta. Wow, you look really pretty. That dress is nice.”
“Well, lads,” Niamh said, half turning. She looked at Sasquatch. “Wipe off that seat when you leave. It probably has a grease stain now.”
“Yes, a bath once in a while would really work wonders on your mood, I think,” Mr. Tom said, looking Sasquatch over. “I’ve always thought so.”
Sasquatch frowned back at Mr. Tom and then glowered at me. “What do you want?”
“Now, Sasquatch, you hairy bastard, you know how this always goes,” Niamh said. “You make a holy show of yerself, then Austin Steele knocks you on yer arse and chases you out in disgrace. Best get up and move that fat arse down a ways so we aren’t tickled by yer presence anymore.”
“I’ll give you a tickle,” Sasquatch muttered sourly.
“Grand. As soon as you can find yer wee willy, you go right ahead and give me a tickle, that’d be fine. Now give us a little peace, and move.”
“He was there first,” Paul said softly, his expression like he’d just eaten a bug. He did not like standing up to Niamh, but he apparently thought he had no choice.
“Nah.” Sasquatch batted his hand through the air. “Last thing I want to do is listen to a bunch of chickens clucking.”
“I beg your pardon,” Mr. Tom said, puffing up in indignation.
“You heard me,” Sasquatch groused, pushing off the stool and leaving the bar.
“You’ve really ruined his drinking habit since you came to town.” Niamh turned back to her cider.
“What’s up with you?” I asked Niamh as Mr. Tom pulled out my stool. “I’m fine, Mr. Tom, I can—”
“You’re in a tight dress, miss, one it took us all day to find and a grisly fight for me to pay for. I do not wish for you to rip it trying to get onto this stool like some sort of cowboy straddling a horse. Now.” He patted the seat.
No, I was never going to win a battle of wills with Mr. Tom. It would just never be worth the effort.
Once seated, which, to be fair, required some gymnastics on the part of Mr. Tom, Niamh answered me.
“I am knackered.” She drooped a little more. “That training today was more tiring than usual, but then dealing with Tom and Jerry throwing their weight around after you left and already trying to establish a pecking order in which they are on top…”
“They weren’t trying to—”
Niamh silenced Mr. Tom with a raised hand. “No. No more. I cannot handle any more nonsense from gargoyles today. The lot of you are as thick!” She shook her head. “Stubborn bastards if ever there were any. They’ll be staying in that house with you now, Jessie. Ye invited them in, and now they get a room each until you kick their big, dumb butts out. They won’t make the cut, mark my words. That Cedric fella is going to get me foot in his hole, too, if he keeps on with how things should be. Well, I’ll tell him how things are, and that will be that.”
“What happened after I left?” I asked as Paul placed a bottle of cider next to Niamh’s glass.
“Jessie? What can I get you?” Paul asked, smiling.
“The usual. Pinot Noir, whichever one is somewhat fresh.”
“And for you, Earl?”
Mr. Tom leaned forward, his hand on the bar. “I haven’t had a chance to tell you, being that I am not a lush like some people who often grace this establishment…”
“Keep it up, see how it goes,” Niamh mumbled. “I’m not in any sorta mood tonight.”
“My name is Tom now.” Mr. Tom patted the bar, and Paul’s brows pinched. “Mr. Tom.” He smiled expectantly.
“O-kay.” If Paul was looking at Niamh and me for help, he wouldn’t get it. I shrugged, and she ignored the situation completely. “Uh…Tom—”
“Mr. Tom.”
“Right. Mr. Tom, what can I get you?”
“A sherry would be nice, thank you.”