Magical Midlife Invasion (Leveling Up #3) - K.F. Breene Page 0,92

touched the edge of his nose.

“Yeah, we took care of things. Hey, thanks again for helping. And keeping things quiet about the magic part of—”

“Don’t start with that again.” He gave Niamh a long-suffering look. “Always the theatrics with her.”

“You don’t have to tell me, sure ye don’t. She’s always on about the magical house, as though a few hidden doors leading into a secret tunnel makes it magical. I just go with it, though. She’s had a hard breakup. She needs some time to ease into reality.”

I frowned at her.

“Well, that’s it. Too much change isn’t good for a person. It can mess with their mind.” My dad reached for his beer. “At least she has this cult or whatever Martha said it was. That’ll keep her busy for a while. Police tend to give cults a wide berth until they get out of hand.”

“I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen, o’course,” Niamh said.

My dad nodded as though all of this made perfect sense—the pile of bodies, the creatures that Edgar had to take down, burying people out back… There were no limits to what this guy wouldn’t rationalize to keep his current world-view. It was madness.

I let it go. It would just be easier. My mom was on board, and my dad had an explanation he could live with. If I couldn’t call that a win, I could at least call it good enough.

“Anyway,” I said, “Mom says you guys are leaving tomorrow?”

“Yeah, it’s probably for the best. There is too much excitement around here for me.” My dad patted his belly. “The plumber has our toilet patched up and they’re working on fixing the water damage, so we’re about ready, anyway.”

“Well, it was nice having you,” I said, aiming for an even tone. It was almost truthful. Next time would be much easier, if there was a next time.

“Yeah, thanks for having us. Oh, Jessie, where’s that big fella you pal around with? Not the really hairy one, but the other one? What is he, six-two or three?”

“Austin. He had to head to his bar.”

“Oh, too bad. He’s a good guy. Well, you know, I don’t like to get involved in these types of things, but if shopping came to buying, I don’t think you could go wrong with a guy like that. You know…” He adjusted in his seat, squinting at the ceiling. “Matt was always a fine choice—” He motioned to Niamh. “Matt was her ex. He was fine. Had a good job, good…” He paused. “He was all right. But that Austin fellow—well, he’s a bit more capable, you know what I mean? He’s a bit more solid regarding the important things in life.”

“Like helping run the cult, ye mean,” Niamh said. I glared at her again.

“Not… No, not the cult so much, but… Well, anyway. He seems capable, is all. He’d be one to protect you, not leave you out to dry. From what I’ve seen in the last week, you need it.”

“Boy, doesn’t she ever,” Niamh agreed. “She’s in up to her eyeballs most times.”

“Would you stop?” I said through my teeth. She grinned at me.

“Anyway…” He squinted at me this time. “What is the story with all the people around here in capes? That’s an awfully odd uniform choice for the cult. I think you should let them dress normally.”

Niamh’s face turned bright red and she shook in her seat, clearly holding back laughter. I didn’t even know what to say.

Foreign footsteps traveled up the walkway. The humor dripped off Niamh’s face, and I could feel Mr. Tom heading to the door.

“I’ll be right back, Dad,” I said, stepping out into the hall as someone knocked.

“Jessie, let Earl get it,” Niamh called.

Mr. Tom was heading toward the stairs, but I closed the distance to the door anyway, feeling Niamh walking my way. I half expected to find Elliot Graves on my doorstep, tired of all these close calls and cat-and-mouse games, come to grab me himself. It would sure put a fast end to our drawn-out situation.

But when I opened the door, two boys in blue stood there, one I recognized from a previous house call, under similar circumstances, and one I did not.

“Ah, fer feck’s sakes, Chuck, what are you at?” Niamh kept walking toward the door as Mr. Tom jogged down the stairs.

The younger guy with close-cropped brown hair, a large chin, and hands braced on his utility belt gave Niamh a bulldog-type stare. “I’ve had some complaints about the

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