Chapter 7 Charlie
CHARLIE
Istood at the massive front door of Ashcliff Manor, with my laptop bag slung over my shoulder, a box of client files under one arm, and Sinnamon's leash in my hand.
My portable printer was balanced precariously on top of a stack of planning binders, and I was pretty sure I'd forgotten something important in my car.
Malrik, who had opened the door looking far too pleased to see me, was now staring at my armload of supplies with what might have been amusement.
"Moving in?" he asked.
"Working from here temporarily," I corrected, shifting the box to a more secure grip.
"My office equipment has developed an unfortunate tendency to malfunction when I get emotional.
Since you seem to be the cause of most of my recent.
.. fluctuations... and this power issue is your responsibility to fix, I have no choice but to set up temporary headquarters here until you sort it out. "
"I see. And the alternative was?"
"Explaining to my insurance company why I've destroyed three printers, two coffee makers, and a very expensive scanner in the past few days." I pushed past him into the entrance hall. "Trust me, this is the practical solution."
Sinnamon trotted in behind me, tail wagging as he made himself at home.
Malrik looked down at the hellhound. "I was wondering where he was."
"Evidently he's mine now," I said.
"Traitor," Malrik muttered to Sinnamon, who merely huffed in response.
Now Malrik was definitely amused. "Where would you like to establish your... headquarters?" He said and smiled. "I think the study will be perfect."
"Your study, with you?"
"It's the most practical location," he said. "Excellent lighting, comfortable seating, and I can ensure you won't be disturbed."
I could see his point, but working in the same room as him seemed like asking for trouble. "What about the library? Or that sitting room with the windows?"
"The library's books have a tendency to offer unsolicited advice. And the sitting room's furniture occasionally rearranges itself. I don't advise it."
I stared at him. "Your furniture moves around?"
"Everything in Ashcliff moves in some way or another."
"Fine. The study it is." I headed toward the room, then paused. "But I need this to be a real workspace, Malrik. I have three other events to coordinate while we plan Scorched, and I can't afford any interference."
"Of course. I'll ensure you have complete privacy and—"
"And no hovering," I added firmly. "I know this is your house, but when I'm working, I need space to concentrate."
Something flickered across his expression. Disappointment, maybe? But he nodded. "Understood. I'll be... elsewhere."
Twenty minutes later, I had my laptop connected to what Malrik assured me was a reinforced internet connection, my phone positioned for optimal reception, and a cup of coffee that had remained at the perfect temperature despite sitting untouched for twenty minutes.
The otherworldly perks were admittedly nice.
Sinnamon had claimed a spot near the fireplace, looking remarkably content.
My first call was with the botanical society about their upcoming luncheon.
"Charlie, dear, I've been thinking about the centerpieces," came the voice through the speaker. "Do you think the daffodils might be too cheerful for a scientific presentation?"
"I think daffodils are perfect for a celebration of botanical research," I replied, making notes on my legal pad. "They're seasonal, locally sourced, and—"
The study door opened, and Malrik appeared with what looked suspiciously like a sandwich and more coffee.
"I thought you might need sustenance," he said quietly, setting the tray on a side table.
I covered the phone's microphone. "I said no hovering."
"I'm not hovering. I'm providing refreshments. There's a difference."
"Charlie?" The voice came through the speaker. "Did you say something about locally sourced?"
"Yes, sorry," I said, shooting Malrik a warning look. "The daffodils will be sourced from Mystic Ridge farms, which aligns perfectly with your sustainability goals."
Malrik retreated, but I noticed he didn't actually leave the room. Instead, he positioned himself at the far end, ostensibly reading something but clearly listening to my conversation.
"Now, about the dietary restrictions," she continued. "We have two vegans, one person with severe nut allergies, and Professor Williams specifically requested that nothing on the menu be 'too exotic.' What does that mean, exactly?"
I glanced at my notes. "Professor Williams considers anything more adventurous than iceberg lettuce to be suspicious. I've arranged for a simple grilled chicken option and a basic salad."
"Excellent. And the seating arrangements?"
"Round tables for eight, with place cards arranged to encourage interdisciplinary conversation while avoiding the people who had that argument about invasive species at last year's conference."
Malrik looked up from his book, and I caught what might have been admiration in his expression.
My laptop screen flickered briefly, a line of static cutting across the spreadsheet before clearing. I ignored it, focusing on the call.
"Charlie, you're a miracle worker," came the voice through the phone. "I don't know how you keep track of all these details."
"Thank you, I do my best," I replied with a smile. "I'll email you the final timeline this afternoon."
After I hung up, Malrik set down his book. "Invasive species argument?"
"Dr. Peterson blamed Professor Martinez for introducing non-native orchids to the greenhouse. Professor Martinez blamed Dr. Peterson's research methods for killing them. It got... heated."
"And you remember this why?"
"Because it's my job to remember these things.
Event planning isn't just about flowers and food.
It's about people. Their quirks, their feuds, their allergies, their ex-wives they don't want to sit near.
" I picked up the sandwich he'd brought, realizing I actually was hungry.
"Speaking of which, we need to discuss the logistics for your guest list."
"What about it?"
"Well, I'll need to arrange the usual discrete feeding stations for the vampire guests, and I'll make sure the fae menu is completely iron-free. The shapeshifters will need the high-protein options, and I assume the elementals won't require any food service?"
Malrik's expression shifted to what looked like impressed appreciation. "Exactly as I would have specified. I knew there was a reason you're the only coordinator in Mystic Ridge capable of handling an event of this magnitude."
"I've also been thinking about seating arrangements," I continued, making notes.
"The werewolf pack will need to be positioned away from the vampire coven.
They're still feuding over that territory dispute from last year.
And I'll schedule the fae court's arrival for after full sunset, since they refuse to make any appearance before their 'dramatic entrance time. '"
"You've been keeping track of pack politics?"
"It's my job to know these things. Last year's incident at the Harvest Moon celebration could have been avoided if the coordinator had paid attention to territorial agreements.
" I pulled up another document on my laptop.
"Which reminds me, I'll need a complete guest list with species designations and any current conflicts I should be aware of. "
My phone rang again. This time it was the florist about the Whitmore anniversary party, wondering if we could substitute roses for peonies due to a supply issue. I was deep in negotiation about alternative flowers when I noticed the temperature in the room had shifted slightly.
Not uncomfortable, just... different. Warmer when I was frustrated with the vendor's lack of flexibility, cooler when we reached a compromise.
I glanced at Malrik, who was now pretending to organize papers at his desk while obviously monitoring my emotional state.
"So the garden roses will actually provide better color variation," I was saying into the phone, "and they'll last longer in the arrangements. Mrs. Whitmore will be pleased with the change."
After I hung up, I looked directly at Malrik. "Are you regulating the room temperature based on my stress levels?"
"Perhaps," he admitted without a trace of shame.
"That's... actually pretty thoughtful."
"I aim to provide optimal working conditions."
A crackle of static came from my phone sitting on the desk. The screen lit up and went dark three times in rapid succession, despite being fully powered off. I stared at it, jaw tightening.
"Uh-huh." I turned back to my laptop, where I'd started a new document titled "Scorched Gala Planning." "Alright, let's talk about your event. I need numbers, timeline, and a detailed explanation of what exactly you do during your performance."
"Numbers are easy. Roughly two hundred guests. Timeline..." He considered. "The event traditionally begins at sunset and continues until dawn."
"All night?" I looked up from my typing. "That's a twelve-hour event."
"Non-human beings have different energy patterns than mortals. Many of my guests are more active during nighttime hours."
I made a note. "Okay, we'll need to plan for significant food and beverage service throughout the night, plus entertainment beyond just your performance. What about the setup?"
"The ballroom will be the primary space, obviously, but guests typically use the gardens, the library, and several of the smaller sitting rooms. The terrace is popular for... private conversations."
"So essentially, the entire manor becomes the venue."
"Precisely."
I was quiet for a moment, considering the logistics. "Malrik, this isn't just a performance. This is like... a festival for magical beings. Do you realize how complex the coordination is going to be?"
"Is that a problem?"
I looked around the study, with its soaring ceilings and elegant architecture, then at my laptop full of planning documents, then at Sinnamon, who was now snoring.
"No," I said finally, surprising myself with how much I meant it. "It's going to be amazing."
When Malrik smiled. Really smiled. Something warm unfurled in my chest.
"I was hoping you'd say that," he said softly.
My phone rang again, breaking the moment. As I reached for it, I caught him settling back into his chair with what looked suspiciously like contentment.
Maybe working from Ashcliff wasn't going to be as complicated as I'd thought.
Until my laptop gave a sharp pop, a spark jumping from the charging cord before settling as if nothing had happened. I yelped, slamming the lid shut and glaring at it like it had personally betrayed me.
I turned slowly toward Malrik. "Alright. Enough dancing around this. When are you fixing it?"
He arched a brow. "Fixing what?"
I leveled him with my best event-coordinator glare. "This." I gestured between us, then at the lamp that had just flickered. "The static cling. The sparks. The way my electronics keep trying to stage a mutiny. You told me it would fade. It hasn't. So what's your plan?"
For once, he didn't answer immediately. His gaze lingered on me, dark and unreadable, until I almost regretted asking. Almost.
"I told you it would fade," he said finally, voice lower, heavier. "I believed that to be true. Yet it persists. If it remains..." His eyes burned like coals. "Then I will teach you to command it, until I can reclaim what is mine."
A shiver danced across my skin. "You're saying I'm stuck like this."
"I'm saying you are not defenseless. Not while you carry even a fragment of my power."
I folded my arms. "This isn't just an inconvenience, Malrik. This is my life. My business. You'd better keep that promise."
"On my name," he said, ancient and absolute, like an oath carved into stone.
I bent to scoop up one of my binders from the floor, fingers brushing his as he held it out to me. A spark leapt between us. Sharp, quick, enough to make us both draw in a breath.
His gaze caught mine, heat blazing in the space that suddenly felt far too small. Neither of us moved for a beat too long.
I pulled the binder back to my chest, clearing my throat. "Fine. Then tomorrow we start. You teach me how to... command it."
His lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Tomorrow."
Sinnamon, sprawled by the fireplace, gave a soft, smug-sounding huff, as if he already knew this was going to be anything but simple.