Chapter Six Neighbors
“This is a bank. Try to act like you know what you’re doing. And stop touching your trousers, for God’s sake!” Bonwit smacks my hands away from my bum for the tenth time.
“They feel terrible. Like cloth made out of gravel,” I mutter, trying to squirm out of the starchy light blue trousers.
If I could concentrate better, I’d have lined them with silk.
However, I can’t concentrate at all. The mortal realm is far too full of noises, and people, and things to know and look at.
“They’re called jeans, and it’s what I could find at this hour. Oh, my... Dair! Stop flipping your hair all over the place; you look like you’re trying to seduce someone with your pretty fae boy looks.”
I might. I might have to seduce Deanna in order to get her to make a deal in the heat of passion.
At least that might be pleasant work. Yes. Yes, the more I think about it, that may be the best course of action—and at least I’ve been told that’s something I’m good at.
“Good morning! Mr. Bonwit?”
“Uh—”
“Yes, Dairmuid Bonwit,” Bonwit says hastily, shoving me down into a strange shiny leather chair across from a man with an impeccably arranged gray beard and flowing silver locks pulled into a small, elegant ponytail. “You must be Mr. Silverman.”
“Samuel Silverman III. My grandfather opened this bank in the 1930s with the goal of investing in the small town of Pine Ridge. My goal is to keep it worth investing in—” his eyes meet mine, widen, and rake over us, “and to make financial matters easily accessible to members of our small but esteemed paranormal community.”
“How did you—”
“The wings, sir. Oh, don’t worry. Takes one to know one,” he winks. “Werewolf. Third generation. My daughter-in-law handles a lot of the business three evenings a month,” he chuckles, and then his face smooths into something serious. “You’re new in town?”
“Yes. I may not stay long. However, I will buy a home while I’m here,” I say, hoping I strike the right blend of polite and commanding.
“One of the homes in Pine Point. We like Balsam Boulevard. Wooded lot.”
“Ah, yes, that’s a more isolated section of the new builds.
” Mr. Silverman rises and moves to a large white board on his wall, grabs a rolled-up scroll of paper from the top, and pulls it straight down to turn the board into a display for the map.
“Let’s see... Yes, we have two spots left on Balsam.
You’ll notice that most of the streets are named after pines, firs, or in some cases, some of the early residents of the town. Now, in the matter of currency—”
“I was told gold is usually acceptable.” I draw out a bundle of it from one of the uncomfortable, tight pockets on my trousers. “I can provide more.”
Silverman’s eyes widen, but only for a second. “I’ll assess it, but I think we can do a down payment with this, to say the least. The name on the mortgage... Is Dairmuid Bonwit the name that’s, ahem, just for human dealings?”
I look at Bonwit.
Bonwit, looking much less bruised at the moment, although very groggy and fed up, nods at me. “We didn’t know the bankers were fae-friendly. Though I’m not all that surprised, seeing as there are any number of fae bankers in this realm.”
“Well, you learn something new every day, but then again, I try to avoid most banking conferences. God knows, with holding about 90% of the business and residential mortgages in town, holding some homes in trust—like we did with the old White Pines Estate until my father passed in 2023—it’s a full-time job just managing the day-to-day of Pine Ridge.
But, I digress. Your companion is right.
We’re fae-friendly, as long as you’re friendly to the innocents.
” Mr. Silverman’s brown eyes are suddenly darker, and his voice more like a growl.
“Monsters and paranormal types in this town have a duty to defend this place from our evil counterparts. You know as well as anyone that most humans wouldn’t see a ghost if it was dancing on their dinner table, and an Orc, or a Mountain Bound?
Not even if they were splitting a taxi. You can purchase the house if you’d like, Mr... ?”
I hesitate. “Lord Dairmuid Danann,” I pick a name that indicates my family but doesn’t sound too complicated. After all, this man may know what I am, but others will not.
“Oh. Lord, is it? Well, then, Lord Dairmuid Danann, you can buy a house here, but if you hurt the people here, any of them, you won’t be living here long.
You won’t be living anywhere. Immortal doesn’t mean you’d get away with it.
Not around here.” Mr. Silverman retrieves papers from a device on his desk. “Still want to live in Pine Ridge?”
“Temporarily,” I say, frost in my voice, a late November burst that sends ice crystals across his desk.
“Sorry. I know that came off as unfriendly—I just take my job seriously as one of the first lines of defense,” Mr. Silverman says, voice smoother now, kinder. “So, what brings you to these parts?”
“Family business,” I say, folding my fingers and then unfolding them to find a quill in my hand. “Where do I sign?”
I don’t call the police. I should, I know.
But what would I say?
“Hi, Officer, a flying shadow man crept into my son’s room, and no, my son is totally fine, and he left an adorable puppy.”
Oh, and “I beat the shit out of him.”
Does assault carry more penalties than breaking and entering? You hear some crazy stories about people getting put in jail for defending their homes. Would the police come in and look at Rory? What if they see his eyes and demand a medical check? What happens from there?
My heart speeds up just thinking about it, and I’m sure it’s that, not the inordinate amount of chocolate-covered espresso beans and lack of sleep that’s doing it, or flashbacks to last night.
I don’t want to leave my house. But I have to leave my house.
It’s Wednesday. There’s choir practice tomorrow.
I need to practice the music before I back up a whole bunch of people in front of a congregation.
So, I leave my house, looking like some kind of two-legged pack mule.
Packing as a mom is no joke.
My purse. Music bag. Organ shoes—yes, there are special shoes you wear to play certain types of organs. Baby bag. Baby-wearing sling. Newborn carrier-carseat combo. Formula. So much formula. Wipes. Pacifier. Diapers. So many diapers.
And the puppy. I don’t know what to do with the dog, so I bring him with us. “Pee before we get in the car,” I pant, carrying everything, eyes darting, tiny puppy on a ridiculously long leash that he clearly does not understand how to use.
“May I help you with something?”
I gasp, instantly on the defensive, and look up.
And stay rooted to that spot, shamelessly staring.
There is a handsome, ethereally beautiful man in jeans and a brown suede cloak staring at me with a gentle smile, long red locks blowing back in the faintest of September breezes.
And wings.
Beautiful, big-ass dragonfly-like wings that sparkle in the sun.
“Shit,” I gasp.
The smile vanishes, then comes back broader. “Well, if you have stalls to muck, I’ll gladly oblige, but I thought you might want help putting those into your, uh—” he gestures to my car. “Automobile.”
“You have wings, too,” I hiss, dropping everything but Rory’s carrier and the leash, and backing towards my door. “Were you the man in my house—”
“I promise you, I have never been inside that house,” he says quickly. “But I am your new neighbor. And yes, I do have wings. I suppose you’re one of the humans who can see the paranormal folk?”
My eyes dart around so hard I’m afraid I’m going to tear a retina. “Paranormal...”
“Yes. Vampires, Orcs, fae? I hear they’re rare in the human world, but plentiful in pockets.
I believe the longer you live here, the more you’ll see that some of your neighbors aren’t quite human in appearance, although we certainly know human customs. Certainly.
Like... Like asking your new neighbor, who clearly seems overburdened, if she would like a helping hand with all of her bundles. ”
The man in front of me is talking. Smiling.
He shouldn’t be allowed to smile; he is stupidly, criminally handsome, and in a weird way, he makes my heart soar and ache at the same time.
I bet Rory will grow up to look like this.
And all of a sudden, I’m picturing my tiny baby all grown up, and even though he’s not mine by blood, the pain hits hard and fast, a gut punch that makes me recoil.
The neighbor backs up a step, smile vanishing. “I’m sorry. Did I startle you?”
“Wings!” I croak.
“Oh, yes. Does your son not have them?” he asks.
“How do you know about my—”
His answer comes out before I’ve finished my sentence, setting my nerves on high alert, but his voice is so casual, and his hand waves away the suspicion in my voice as if it’s nothing.
“Oh, one fae can always tell another—or a halfling. This beautiful boy is clearly part fae.” He smiles into the carrier with the most reverent, soppy smile.
“Such a pretty babe. Such lovely hair, too.”
I almost want to ask how he knows Rory is a boy, but I stop short. If fae can sense fae, then I guess they can sense other things, too.
And I’m still trying not to drop from shock or downright exhaustion (or maybe some PTSD after last night). “There are vampires?” I finally manage, swaying on the spot.
“My lady, you do not look well.” Neighbor Hottie says. “You look as if you might faint.”
“I... Sleepless nights. Newborn. Answer the question, please.” I remember manners exist, somewhere in the wreckage of stress, sleep deprivation, and the weird flutter that hit my stomach when he surged forward with concern in his eyes, calling me ‘my lady.’
“I am also new here, and new to this realm. I prefer the fae realm of my birth and my ancestors, but from what I have been told, this place is a good and safe haven for paranormal peoples who wish to live a peaceful life with their human neighbors.”
“Realms? This place?”