Ivy
Two days have gone by uneventfully for once.
Conall caught a few small but disturbing things hanging around the cottage, but nothing like the mimic he killed.
We haven't really talked since my meltdown in the kitchen.
I don't want to talk. I think I've finally hit my limit.
This has been a crazy experience, and I just want to get to the part where we fix the wards and the island residents likely kick me out since I'm not covered in scales or talons or whatever.
I thought about not coming to game night, but Layla, Ada, and even Dolly have been nothing but nice to me, and ghosting them when they've clearly been looking forward to this feels too heartless. So I walk along a narrow dirt path cut from the main road.
Fireflies spark over the tall grass. In one hand, I hold a bottle of wine by the neck.
The other skims along the tops of wild daisies and cattails, tickling my palm.
Every step causes the grass to brush my ankles and legs.
I chose a flowy sundress and sandals for this.
The soft rustling of the grass behind me, along with steady footfalls, is my only indication that Conall is following behind.
We crest the small hill we've been climbing.
At the bottom, a white farmhouse surrounded by a picket fence glows with warm light from its windows.
Ada stands in the front garden chatting with Layla.
I stop for a moment, taking in Ada's translucent wings and Layla's eyes, now yellow with thin strips for pupils.
Conall steps up beside me and sighs. "Why are you doing this again?"
"Because this is what people do. They get to know their neighbors and all that crap."
He raises an eyebrow. "Where did you get that bullshit?"
"I don't know. I saw it in a movie a few times. It's worth a shot." He studies me for another tense moment.
I ignore the look and start striding down the hill. Except instead of walking away with dignity, my foot instantly slips. My eyes squeeze shut, already bracing to tumble down like Jack and Jill in the nursery rhyme, when a hand closes over my arm.
"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 stumble again, 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."
My eyebrows hit my hairline. "Like a you-died-and-now-you're-haunting-the-place kind of ghost?"
"Yep. A long time ago. I shipwrecked off the island. Because of the magical wards, my soul was sort of pulled in. I can't leave. With Laz's help, I can interact in a more corporeal way. Though obviously, I'm still invisible."
I nod as though I understand, though I barely do.
We start the games with charades. Since I’m the new person, I have to go first. I try my best elephant impression, using my arm as a trunk, then watch everyone else take their turns.
It quickly becomes clear I didn’t do very well.
The rules say no noises or spelling, but magic is allowed, and everyone uses it.
Laz is the biggest culprit. When he gets “teapot,” he does the usual arm-as-handle, arm-as-spout moves, but then real tea pours from his hand onto the grass and steam comes out of his ears.
Conall’s turn is especially funny. I never figure out what he’s supposed to be, and I probably never will.
It looks like a mix between a car and a bunny rabbit.
"I thought we were playing board games, not humiliation games," he grumbles as he sits back down next to me. I can’t help but laugh.
When he catches my eye, his mouth twitches into a reluctant smirk.
On the third turn I get the group to ban magic, which makes it much funnier as Laz struggles to find more physical ways to act things out.
Once we're done with charades, some of the empty plates are brought in, and Layla says she's getting the cards.
I try to stand to carry a few things in, but Conall takes them first.
"Rest. I have these," he murmurs, and warmth streaks through me.
A moment later, the chair beside me pulls back, and I turn, expecting Conall, but it's Nick. I flinch on instinct, surprise making my movements automatic, and begin to stand. Something about Nick puts me on the defensive every time.
"Please, Miss Smith, can I have a word? I promise I mean no harm."
I glance around. Killian is still at the end of the table, hooves beating at the dirt at random intervals as he drinks his wine.
Edgar's hat floats out in the yard, as though he's watching the landscape.
Dolly is in her own world, trying to catch an errant firefly.
Through Layla's sliding glass door, I can see Conall helping put a few things away.
Close enough that if I screamed, he would definitely hear me.
"Okay. What did you want to talk about?" My voice is level, but I wish there were another foot or two between me and the smoking demon.
"I want to talk about the wards, Miss Smith,” Nick says. “The ones you're meant to repair. It's my understanding that Mayor Pendragon finally discovered what my client and good friend actually cast."
I stare at him. "You knew? The whole time you knew what she'd cast?"
He nods as though this is obvious. "Oh yes. She told me. She wouldn't have cast it without ensuring someone knew how to finish it."
"Then why didn't you tell anyone? Why didn't you tell Laz?
" I whisper-yell at him. I think of the day Laz told us he'd finally figured out which spell had been used.
He'd looked like he hadn't slept in days.
It had clearly weighed on him. And Nick could have saved him all of that time and just told him. Indignation rises hot and fast.
"I didn't tell Laz because I knew how he'd react to a renewal spell. He’d destroy it."
I snap my mouth shut. That's essentially what Laz wants me to do.
One spell would reverse what my aunt did, resetting the wards to their earlier state and essentially destroying the spell.
The other would continue her renewal while adding new specifications and precautions, the ramifications of which, we can't know because we don’t know what they are.
Neither spell can be cast until the full moon.
Nick hisses through his teeth and his hands clench into fists when I don't answer. "That's exactly what he wants to do, isn't it? Destroy the spell and put everything back the way it was? All neat and orderly for monsters on the island, while those beyond suffer."
I frown. "Suffer?"
"Miss Smith, why do you think monster sanctuaries like this exist?
They're not just convenient real estate.
Some monsters can't hide their true forms and can't live among humans.
Others suffer from magical ailments and need healing.
Some have children who can't—and never will—control their abilities. " He glances behind me.
I follow his gaze to Amy. "What do you mean?"
He smirks, but it's all cold bite. "Do you want to guess who the very last refugees to this island were?"
It doesn't take much of a leap. "Amy's family."
He nods. "Her mother and little two-year-old Amy. Her shapeshifting is nominal. Her mother’s side carries the genetics, but it skipped her mother completely.
So when Amy was born, her eyes kept changing noticeably.
It was a small but unexplainable thing, and she couldn’t be around other children.
So, her mother brought her here and the island let them in.
At that time, the island let those in need through. "
"What happened?"
"A disaster," Nick says quietly. His red face looks tired as he stares at his wine.
"A gremlin family came to the island needing help.
The problem was, they thought Amy's mother was strictly human, maybe Amy too.
It all happened fast. The brutality was shocking.
By the end, Amy's mother was dead, and Amy was badly hurt.
The gremlins were banished. It scared Laz.
Nothing like that had happened before, but the world was changing.
He altered the wards to make screening stricter.
He still said refugees could come and people in need would get help.
But Amy was the last to arrive until you. Not until Ursula changed the spell."
I look toward Amy in the window, but Nick's sharp hands suddenly close over mine. "Have you noticed the children, Ivy?" His voice is sharp and urgent, as though he senses we'll be interrupted soon. I can see everyone gathering things to come back outside.
"What children?" I breathe, trying to pull out of his grasp.
He lets go, and I lurch back a little. "Exactly."
The sliding glass door opens, laughter joins us on the patio. Conall steps out with the others, holding a platter of cookies and a large glass of wine that he hands to me. My heart is pounding, and my hands shake a little when I take the glass. Conall notices, eyes sharpening on me.
"What's the matter?" he demands.
I look back at the chair beside me to find it empty. Nick is once again seated at his spot next to Dolly at the other end of the table.
"Nothing," I say as Conall takes the seat next to me.
From across the table, Nick winks.