Chapter 24
JAMES
The summer blazed on. After we spent several long and physically arduous nights dismantling the laundry-drying shelter and rebuilding it in the narrow strip of land between Bluebell and the hedge that partitioned the two gardens, Edwin buried himself in his art, having finally chosen a new pen name for his realistic pencil sketches along with a brief biography of ‘the artist’.
Baxter was in the process of setting up a new, watertight online persona for him, along with a bank account and everything else he’d need for a successful business.
I didn’t know how she managed it, but Edwin had total faith in her abilities and it had been working for him for decades, so I guess I didn’t need to understand it.
Trace sent a courier with his books and a whole heap of smaller boxes that he requested we didn’t open.
I assumed they were items he used for his magic, although I didn’t ask, and he didn’t volunteer any information.
I took great care with the books, spending several hours sorting and then arranging them on the bookshelves Isher had built.
Can you say ‘built’ when they were conjured out of magical thin air?
They seemed real and solid. I felt honoured Trace trusted me enough to do this for him.
He called every couple of days on the landline — which I hadn’t even known Edwin had until it rang the first time and made me jump.
I mostly felt too awkward to speak to Trace on the phone, especially since the last time he’d been here I’d let him watch me and Edwin in bed, a memory which turned me on and made me shiver with embarrassment in equal measure.
So I was content to hand the phone to Edwin and continue making Trace’s carriage look like a welcoming home.
The installation of a fridge and washing machine in the kitchen and the bathroom fittings had spurred me on to source small items like toiletries, washing-up equipment, some basic food stuffs, and even a cheerful blind to hang at the kitchen window.
Edwin, on one of his rare visits — not because he wasn’t interested but because he said he didn’t want to stifle my new-found creativity — was very complimentary about my efforts, saying I’d evidently unlocked the queer decorating level and should get my gay card updated accordingly.
I rolled my eyes at his ridiculousness and threatened to find myself a girlfriend to remind him I was still bisexual.
He pretended to be shocked, but later that day, he asked me haltingly if I was truly happy or whether I’d been going along with his desires in an effort to please him.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Edwin!” I exploded, and yes, I did use his given name.
“Is that what you think of me, that that arsehole Cormack ruined me forever from making my own decisions?” I’d been so steaming with indignation, I didn’t realise I’d said the FWNN’s name out loud until much later.
“D’you really think me incapable of knowing my own mind?
Yes, I like women, some of them, and I definitely like the way they look and smell and feel, but I also like cock, and no, I am not ‘going along’ with anything.
You absolute fuckwit.” I punched him. Hard, on his rock-solid biceps.
Which hurt my hand a lot more than it hurt him, but whatever, I was cross.
Edwin, chastened, had managed not to laugh at my pained cursing as I cradled my sore knuckles, and apologised non-stop for an hour, in many and varied ways.
I finally got sick of his puppy dog eyes and miserable expression and told him he could make it up to me by sucking me off.
He took me then and there in the living room, with my jeans around my ankles, sending me spinning out of control with his filthy, talented tongue and his vampiric ability not to breathe until I spilled down his throat with a hoarse cry.
After that, we talked it out properly. Edwin promised to stop inventing theoretical scenarios whereby I upped and left him.
In turn, I promised to try to boss him about a bit sexually.
He absolutely adored it when I took control and made our sex life, such as it was, about how he could please me and get me off.
It always took him next to no time to orgasm after he made me come, and although I wasn’t ready to actually fuck him, we were becoming closer physically in every other way.
Trace called to ask if it was all right with Edwin if he hired someone to dig up most of the grass and get the soil turned over.
Edwin, of course, said yes, so I spent most of one very sleepless day trying not to stress about the noise and hoping the neighbours didn’t complain as a very small digger inched its way through the new archway to turn the once pristine lawn into a huge mud bath.
At Trace’s request, I got the digger bloke to stack the turf strips in one corner as he thought he might need some of them.
I fretted they’d dry out. He reminded me he was a witch and wouldn’t have much trouble persuading some frizzled grass to rejuvenate.
I tried to switch off my tendency to worry.
An electrician made short work of connecting the carriage to the grid.
Some workers came to join up the carriage to the water system and from there to the public mains.
On the day they were finishing up, one of the guys, a beefy bloke whose arm muscles made me think he spent a lot of time at the gym, kept shooting me sideways glances.
It made me nervous, until he asked me faux-casually if the owner of the property was about, then my anxiety tripled.
I took a deep breath and explained he worked nights and wasn’t to be disturbed; Edwin had expected someone to attempt to extract a signature from him and had handwritten a note passing on that responsibility to me, thanks a lot, my vampire master.
The guy eyed the note, then me, tapping the paper thoughtfully. “Is he your boyfriend, this Mr Marshall on the job details form?” He jerked his thumb towards Bluebell.
I nearly said they’d got his name wrong before I remembered Edwin used a lot of alter egos and this parcel of land was registered under the surname Marshall.
This bloke assumed he was my boyfriend? Oh shit!
What do I say? Is this a trick? Will Edwin mind if this outs him?
Fuck…I definitely shouldn’t ever do that.
“That’s very personal. I’m not prepared to answer that,” I replied when the silence became painful. I had no way of knowing if he was a bigot, or one of us.
He tried another tack. “I think you know Ms Wragg. Is that right?”
I did? I wracked my brain again for what felt like way too long. “Oh, you mean Baxter?” I finally offered. He nodded. “I do. She’s a friend of my…housemate.” Housemate? Is that the best you can do?
He gave me a sour look that suggested he didn’t buy the housemate description for a second.
“Well, perhaps you could tell Mr Marshall that Kris Bradshaw will be back after sundown some time to get him to sign off on the work? The work that Ms Wragg got authorised in a hurry. We can’t accept a stand-in signature because you’re not the home owner. ”
I blinked at him. “After dark? Don’t you have a home to go to?
” I was fairly certain this wasn’t usual practice for contractors.
I narrowed my eyes. “If it’s dark, how do you expect him to okay your work?
” Look at you, James, being all indignant on behalf of your supposedly human friend.
You’re really starting to fit into the supernatural world when lies roll off your tongue like this.
Kris Bradshaw shot me a disbelieving look.
He hollered to his colleagues to load the van and that he’d be with them in a minute.
“Straight talk here, mate. Marshall’s a vamp.
You know it, I know it.” I raised my eyebrows at him.
What the fuck? He carried on, apparently uncaring that my pulse had begun to gallop.
“I can smell him from here.” My eyebrows hit my hairline.
“And as I know exactly who Baxter Wragg is, and you’ve just confirmed they’re friends, let’s cut the bullshit.
He’ll be out some time shortly after dusk to inspect our work, which will be perfect, by the way, and I’ll be back later for his signature.
I promise not to sneer at his odour of creepy undead bloodsucker as long as he keeps his snooty death needles hidden. Deal?”
“Deal,” I said faintly. He gave me a sharp upnod and spun on his heel to head down the path. “Hey,” I called after him as a thought occurred to me. “Did you say Bradshaw?”
He halted and turned back towards me, his tone low but clear.
“Yeah, I did. You might know my cousin, Luc, seeing as you obviously swing that way. Up himself little turd who thinks he’s clever for waving his rainbow freak flag at a pack meeting and expecting everyone to be cool with it.
” His expression told me clearly he was not an ally.
I suspect I blanched. There was no doubt in my mind now that this guy was a wolf. Luckily, he headed off before I could come out with any more stilted word vomit. I tottered indoors to wake Edwin. I didn’t think this could wait.
Edwin, although furious at the way I’d been treated, was less concerned than annoyed.
“He was a dick to you, but he made sure he spoke to you privately, so he’s an arsehole, but thankfully not a loose cannon,” he said.
He urged me to have a cuppa and find a film we could watch together after he’d spoken to Justin Woodley, the Head Wolf on the Council.
I argued he had work to do, but he shot me down with one of his looks.
“I’m going to cuddle you for a few hours to get the stink of skanky shifter out of your nostrils, baby,” he said in a tone that brooked no argument, although to be fair, it was never a bad day when I could spend it wrapped up in Edwin.
“You won’t be a dick back to him and start a war?”