4. Sedrick
Sedrick
M arty Buttons seemed inordinately pleased with himself, and I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why.
It raised my hackles but not enough to get up and walk out the door.
I’d repeatedly tried to ask questions about this Phil , but Marty expertly changed the subject, waved me off, or steered the conversation in a totally different direction.
At most, all he said was, “You’ll see,” which helped not one bit.
My irritation brewed, which was never a good thing in a werewolf.
I glanced at my watch and noted I’d wasted nearly the entire day.
There was still one more boarding house on Ray’s list. After the failure I’d had so far, I wasn’t sure I had it in me to try somewhere else today.
I’d just as likely wind up ripping the hinges off the door as give a polite knock.
Speaking of polite knocks . . . Posey’s gentle touch sang into the room right before the door opened.
Marty’s head snapped up, his beady black eyes attentive. “Ah, Posey. There you are. And Phil too. Excellent. Come on in.”
Instead of twisting in my seat, I stood.
I’d learned my lesson earlier that day. I’d sat through an interview, and although the pixie in question was hesitant, they’d nearly decided I might be worth a try.
When I’d stood to shake their hand, their eyes had gone impossibly wide, and they’d darted out of the room.
Their pixie dust gave me one hell of a sneezing fit.
It was a lesson well learned. Best to get it out of the way early, let them see I was big, even by werewolf standards. If they cut and run, at least I’d save some time.
“Mr. Sedrick Voss,” Posey’s light voice bristled with barely contained excitement, “this is Phil.”
I blinked and looked behind Posey, but the only other one in the room was far too tall to be a pixie.
I started to ask where Phil was, but then I noticed the movement of wings.
It was a brief flutter, little more than a pink whirl.
Head bent, a swath of hair covered his face.
White-blond at the scalp, lighter shades of pink started only to darken to magenta at the tips.
I’d seen similar color schemes in the litany of pixies I’d met today.
My mouth stuttered open, stopped, and then opened again.
Was this really Phil? Was he truly a pixie?
If he was, he sure as hell didn’t dress like one.
Practical dark jeans, heavy boots, and a tight t-shirt were in place of flowing, gauzy fabrics.
I didn’t think the t-shirt could stand up to tiny were claws, but the jeans and boots might.
I turned toward Marty, the obvious question in my eyes.
Marty didn’t look as jovial as before. Instead, he appeared determined.
When he spoke, I realized he was cautious too.
“Sedrick, this is Phil. He’s a home-and-hearth pixie.
His current employment isn’t . . . ideal and isn’t using his talents to the fullest. I believe, given the concerns you stated earlier and your needs, Phil would be the best match. ”
I gave Marty a dubious stare, but the look I got in return dared me to question his integrity or word. I wasn’t stupid enough to do either with a brownie.
Posey moved aside when I took a step closer. Phil still hadn’t raised his head. In my limited experience, that wasn’t very pixie-ish behavior either. If there was one thing most pixies had in spades, it was self-confidence. It looked like Phil had missed out on that memo somewhere along the line.
Clearing my throat, I tried to look and sound as unintimidating as possible. “Hi, Phil. As Marty said, my name is Sedrick.”
Phil’s head raised. Slightly at first and then higher until his hair fell back, revealing grass-green eyes that sang of spring.
He blinked, light pink lashes against his milky-pale skin.
Tucking his hair behind an ear revealed a slightly tipped lobe.
I no longer had any doubts he was a pixie.
Everything but his size and clothing choice screamed it.
“Um, hello.” A whisper of a smile pulled at Phil’s lips before they dropped again. His gaze darted toward Posey, and as if strings controlled him, Phil’s shoulders straightened, revealing his full height. Chest pushed out, Phil stuck out his hand and offered, “It’s nice to meet you, Sedrick.”
I took that hand and cringed at its softness.
Mine was hard and calloused. Years of hard, physical labor would do that to you.
But there was encouraging strength in the gentle touch.
Every pixie I’d met looked far too fragile.
But this pixie was different. This pixie might just be tough enough to survive my household.
I couldn’t screw this up. Phil was the most promising lead I’d had. Dropping his hand, I ran my fingers through my thick, brown ruff, ending with a swipe through my beard. Despite Phil being large for a pixie, I was taller and broader than him.
Nodding in Marty’s direction, I started, “I’ve got need of a home-and-hearth pixie.
I’m not gonna lie, the job will be a tough one.
I’ve recently taken in my niece and nephew.
Dillon’s seven and Ruthie’s five. I need someone to watch them and take care of the house.
The garden’s a mess too. I’m not sure whether that fits into your skill set.
If it doesn’t, that’s not a deal breaker. ”
With every word I uttered, Phil’s eyes grew wider. His lips parted, and he repeatedly licked them. It was damn distracting.
“You . . . Yes. I mean, I can do some gardening. I’m not as good as Peaches.”
“Peaches?” I questioned.
Phil nodded a little too vigorously. “He’s a garden pixie.” Phil’s face flushed. “And my best friend. He’s very good and is in charge of his own orchard. He—” Phil faltered for half a second before he picked up again. “That sounds perfect. If you want, I’d be happy to accept the position.”
My heart kicked up, pounding like a drum. I chalked it up to being excited this hunt was over. There was one more possible sticking point, something I hadn’t gotten far enough with anyone else to discuss. “My place is a bit of a trek. Do you have transportation?”
Phil frowned and chewed on his bottom lip. “How far?”
“About ten miles outside of town.” I’d initially thought that would be the most significant issue. From what I understood, home-and-hearth pixies tended to stay in the city. Garden pixies varied, depending on what type of nature called them.
Phil looked at Marty imploringly.
Marty shrugged. “I’m sorry, Phil. The boarding house doesn’t have access to transportation. We’ve never needed it before.”
Phil looked crushed. He stared down at his boots before his head snapped up, and he proclaimed, “I can fly it.”
“ Fly it ?” Posey flitted about, a haze of pixie dust erupting from her wings. “Honey, no. Do you realize how far that is? Pixie wings are strong, but—”
“And mine are even stronger, Posey. You know that. I can do it. I want to do it. Please.”
Posey didn’t look convinced.
But Marty was. “Okay, it’s settled. Now, Mr. Voss, let’s discuss salary.”
A second chair softly scooted across the room, coming to rest beside the one I’d occupied before Phil walked through the door.
Posey quietly left while Phil and I sat on the opposite side of Marty’s desk.
The brownie shimmied into his chair again and pulled out a contract from one of his desk drawers.
Laying it out flat, Marty grabbed a pen and asked, “What kind of compensation can Phil expect?”
We spent the next few minutes discussing the terms of the contract. Phil was happy to agree to anything. A little too happy. He would have signed a horrible contract if Marty hadn’t looked out for him. In the end, it was easy to settle on terms I was agreeable with and were more than fair.
Shortly after the ink dried, Phil left to parts unknown, leaving me alone with the brownie.
Marty appeared immeasurably pleased with himself when he leaned back into a chair that looked like it wanted to swallow him whole. “I think you’ll be very happy with Phil.”
It seemed like an odd way to phrase it, but I didn’t question things too far. I was too relieved that my search was over and that I had succeeded.
“He seems like a good fit. At least he wears sensible clothes.” I thought over the encounter and added, “A bit large for a pixie.”
Marty nodded. “That he is, but Phil is a pixie through and through, no matter his size.”
I waved the notion off that Phil was too big. I considered his size a bonus, not a deterrent. But something nagged at me. “Phil doesn’t seem like a usual pixie name.”
Marty chuckled. “No, I suppose not. His real name is Philodendron. Still not the typical flowery name, but it fits him well. Most of us just call him Phil.”
It made sense. “Philodendron,” I mused out loud. “Do you think he can make the flight to my home?”
Marty gazed off to the side. I had no idea what he looked at or saw, but after a minute, he answered, “If anyone can do it, Phil can.”