"Easy, Freckles." Conall rights me and starts walking me down the hill, one arm around my back, hand firmly squeezing my waist, the other hand warm in mine.
"Thanks," I murmur, a flush creeping up my face.
He huffs, looking at our feet as we make our way down the slightly treacherous terrain. "Guess if I'm going to keep you alive, I'll have to protect you from yourself, too."
The statement strikes a nerve. A different heat flushes up my cheeks. Embarrassment.
I pull my hand from his and step away.
"Freckles," he groans in obvious exasperation.
I march down the hill, more careful of my footing now. I'm a grown woman who can take care of herself. I don't need him to—
My thought cuts off as I stumbleagain, but this time a slimmer, harsher set of hands catches me before I can land on my face. I look up to find black eyes, a sharp smile, and trailing smoke. Nick Claw, my lawyer. My late aunt's lawyer, I suppose.
"Mind your step, Miss Smith. Wouldn't want another funeral so close to your aunt's." His tongue flicks out along his bottom lip, and I startle when I realize it's forked.
Another hand comes to rest on my opposite arm. His scent wraps around me, easing my racing heart and pushing back the burnt stench of the demon.
"I've got her," Conall says firmly, gently pulling me into his side.
Nick's hand tightens around my arm for just a moment before he lets go, unhurried, making sure I know he's letting go by choice and not force.
Conall walks me down the rest of the hill, and I stay close without deciding to.
"Was that a threat?" I whisper. "Why would he threaten me?"
Conall's expression is hard. He looks like he's reconsidering leaving Nick Claw standing back there. "I don't know. But he's not coming near you again. I promise." The certainty and roughness to his voice sends heat pooling low in my belly.
We reach the bottom of the hill, and he's still holding onto me. My hand settles over his, where it's still wrapped around my forearm.
His eyes drop to my hand and then close briefly, like he's negotiating with himself, before his grip slowly loosens.
"Did I hurt you?" His voice comes out rough. "I'm sorry if that was too tight."
I shake my head. "No. I'm okay." I mean to leave it there, but hear myself add, "Thanks for that. Nick creeps me out."
He nods and falls into step behind me as we head toward the others.
Layla's house feels like a blend of cozy cottage charm and old, mysterious artifacts. The front door is green, decorated with small blue flowers with yellow centers. Inside, there are cat statues adorned with gold jewelry. The wallpaper is a soft blue-and-white stripe, but one wall hanging is covered in ancient script I can't read, and I doubt anyone else could either.
She leads us out into the backyard. A spacious stone patio awaits, strung with fairy lights. There’s a big outdoor table with wine, glasses, and charcuterie. The others are already there. Half the wine bottles sit open. Cheeses have already been eaten. Killian is standing, given his horse’s hind, laughing at something Ada said. Laz and Amy are in a spirited debate. Laz gestures so hard with his wine glass that he might be using magic to keep it from spilling. Nick sits near Dolly. The two of them are a study in contrasts: he’s in a black form-fitting suit, black eyes, and black hair. She’s in pink on pink. Conall and I sit next to Layla at the head of the table.
"Okay, we're all here," Layla announces. I look over the table, notice one empty chair at the end, and count.
"Layla, I thought there were supposed to be ten. Didn't you mention someone named Edgar?" I ask, opening the wine I brought and reaching for a glass. Conall picks one up and hands it to me.
"He is... ugh, Edgar, you promised to wear the hat today because Ivy's new. Just until she gets used to everything," Layla says, staring right at the empty chair. I look from Layla to the chair and back again.
"Oh, ah, yes. Hang on," a deep British voice says. The seat bounces and jostles as though someone is moving around in it. A bag under the table opens on its own, and a baseball cap with the Lions logo on it floats out, hovering at roughly head height for someone sitting.
"Hi," the voice says. "I'm Edgar. I'd shake hands, but it's tough."
I'm silent for a moment, for a rude amount of time, really, which is probably why Conall elbows my side.
"Hello, it's nice to, uh, meet you? I'm Ivy." Is it rude to ask about someone's species? I feel like it is. Like, if they want to tell you, they will.
Thankfully, Edgar wants to. "I'm a ghost."
