Magical Midlife Madness： A Paranormal Women's Fiction Novel(18)

“Madam!”

“Oh my God, Mr. Tom, what do you need?” I turned to him slowly.

He flinched and took two steps back. My expression clearly wasn’t advertising the patience I’d tried for.

“Pardon me, madam—”

“Please stop calling me madam.”

“Yes, miss”—I sighed—“I went and got this for you.”

He held out a travel mug with the lid closed.

“Oh, thank you, but I’m okay. I’ve had four cups of coffee. I’m buzzing on caffeine just fine. I should probably stop. But thanks for thinking of me.”

“It’s not coffee, miss.” He hesitantly took a step forward, his hand outstretched. “It’s to help chase away the hangover. I have a friend that specializes in…draughts.”

“Draughts?”

“Modern-day elixirs. Not at all like the witch brews in storybooks. That’s…false, those stories. Very unpredictable. This is…medicinal. From…doctors. Doctors without…licenses.”

“Are you trying to say herbalists? Like Chinese medicine?”

Relief crossed his face. “Yes, of course. Yes, herbalists. That’s it, exactly. We have a few in town. One creates potions—I mean…elixirs that work. One is a useless Jane who is living a lie. Like those storybook writers that go on about superheroes.”

I eyed his ratty cape, attached to a freshly pressed black suit that made him look less bony, somehow. “Right.”

“It’ll help.” He stretched his arm toward me but didn’t take another step.

Amazing. My son had gotten to a point where he’d started ignoring my mom voice. Also my mom look. Also the classic mom-ready-to-charge-at-him-with-a-paddle-and-get-him-to-see-sense voice/look combo.

That had driven me crazy, because while I wasn’t above a swat on the butt, at some point you had to refrain. Like when they were fifteen and in public. Teenagers were the absolute worst. It was like an alien had come to earth one day, picked up my loving boy, and replaced him with a stinky, hairy mutant. Someone should’ve warned me.

“Miss—”

“Yes, yes, okay.” I took the travel mug, pulled off the lid, and looked down at the green liquid. “Is this wheatgrass or whatever that is?”

“I couldn’t say, miss.”

“Are you trying to kill me, Mr. Tom?”

“No, miss. And you can just call me Tom. I think you’ve earned it.”

He wasn’t helping me put the brakes on weird. He really wasn’t.

I remembered the body Edgar had dragged across the grass. The kid hadn’t been dead, sure, but I did not want that to be me. Those rocks had felt bad enough on my feet. “You take a sip, then.” I handed it back.

He took a sip and grimaced before reaching it toward me again. “It doesn’t taste good, but it’ll do the trick. She is really very good.”

I resumed care of the travel mug and turned to look at the scene carved into the landing as I took my first sip. The bitter taste made my face screw up and my stomach swim, but I finished it before handing it back. Time would tell if I’d chugged poison. Given the way I was already feeling, the end might be welcome.

“What room will you move on to next?” he asked, stepping back.

I shook my head, pulling my gaze away again. I couldn’t just stand in the foyer and stare at the carvings all day. I had to get moving.

“I’ve been right. I might as well head left.”

Each room was lovelier than the last. The furniture was just as I remembered it from my first visit, stately and homey at the same time. Given no one had been around to use it, the thirty years that had passed hadn’t aged it. I trailed fingers across smooth wood arms or tops, felt the crushed velvet of seats, fluffed already fluffy pillows on couches.

Oil paintings stared down at me, men and women from centuries ago, transporting me to a different time. Wallpaper covered some walls, the style incorporating raised elements that gave it texture. Everything in Ivy House was different, unique, but somehow it blended together perfectly.

In the last room on the ground floor, I just stood in the middle of the gorgeous burgundy rug, surrounded by wooden chairs in a ring, and stared out the window at the labyrinth beyond the garden. I felt peaceful in a way I could only remember feeling when I had held my son, rocking him back and forth, comforted by my overwhelming love and his baby-soft skin. This house felt like home. It felt like I wanted to stay. Maybe forever.

“Do you know if this house is for sale?” I asked Mr. Tom, staring at me from the doorway.

I didn’t even know how I knew he was there, staring at me silently like a creeper, since the doorway was behind me. I just…did. He was intruding upon my chi. The chi of this room. He didn’t belong.

Yet.

I shook the weird thought away, feeling a little strange, and turned to find him exactly where I’d sensed he’d be. One foot in the room. The other out. Looking at me like I’d sprouted a third eye.

“The house is passed. It is not sold.” He entwined his fingers.

“Auntie Peggy has no kids, though, and she never comes here. Surely she’d entertain an offer? How much is real estate in this neck of the woods?”

“Ivy House is owned by the person most fit to own it. Everyone else is just a steward.”

I sighed. “Did you take a class on being unhelpful or something? It feels like we’re having two different conversations.”

“I did not, and we are.”

“You could probably teach a class like that, though,” I muttered, turning away so I couldn’t directly see him. It was probably for the best I didn’t get my hopes up, anyway. This house was enormous, the grounds even more so, and I didn’t even know how much of the woods she owned. Not to mention the place came with a gardener. I couldn’t exactly pay Edgar without having a job myself. It was a foolish pipe dream. I just needed to be happy in the moment and carry on.

“Are you interested in a little lunch, miss?” Mr. Tom asked. “Or a snack? Dinner isn’t far off, but it isn’t for another couple of hours.”

I ran my hand across the top of a chair and then skimmed it over the bookshelf against the far wall. I’d long since taken off my gloves. I hadn’t found a speck of dirt.

“You’ve done a good cleaning job,” I told him. “It must’ve taken you a while.”

“The time flew, I assure you. There is nothing quite as sad as a neglected home.”

I shooed him in front of me. “Have you done the whole house?”

“Not the whole house. I do not know of all the…little nooks and crannies.”

“Like the trap doors and secret passageways and stuff?” I followed him to the glistening kitchen.

“Correct. I have found but two.”

“Really?” I sat at the little table in the enormous kitchen, following his gesture. “How long have you been here?”

“Fifteen years, now.”

“I think I only found two when I was here. That’s probably all there is, then.”

“Probably.”

His answer rang false, like a parent agreeing with a chatty child just to make them stop asking questions.

I leaned my face against my hand, belatedly realizing two things. The first was that I felt great. Just like new. Maybe better than new! My back, which sometimes ached for no apparent reason, felt perfectly fine. Not even a dull ache when I’d bent to sit. That was nice. And my joints hadn’t protested once since I’d downed the green drink, even though I’d been picking things up and checking things out. This was all in addition to my headache having completely cleared up. My stomach was just fine. I would have noticed sooner if I hadn’t been so entranced with the house.

I mentioned all of this with what I knew was a goofy grin.

“Agnes is about as talented as they come. A late bloomer, as it were, but a great addition to the town. Just don’t try the other one. She’s a lunatic.”

“Right.”

The other thing I noticed was that Mr. Tom was busy making me food again, and I didn’t feel bad about it. I hadn’t even asked what he was putting together. I’d just sat at the table like a child, waiting for what I was given.

What had gotten into me?

“So now that I’m here, I take up the cleaning mantle, then?” I asked, rising. I needed to at least look like I was an active participant.

“No, no.” He gestured me back down and stared at me until I complied. Which I did, as though I wasn’t really in charge of my limbs. “Other than the issue of scattering rocks and dirty clothes around, I doubt you’ll be any hassle—”

“Yeah, look, sorry about the rocks. I get a little mischievous when I’ve been drinking. I’ll tell Niamh—”

“You’ll do no such thing. She needs someone around who isn’t afraid of her.”

“Afraid of Niamh? Is she that persistent with the rock throwing?”

“There is no reason why you have to bother with the mundane work,” he said, either not hearing me or simply ignoring me. “You’ll have more important things to do.”

“Like what? I didn’t get a list or anything from Auntie Peggy.”

He delivered me a triple layer sandwich with all the fixings and a little salad on the side. I widened my eyes at it. He’d knocked that out incredibly fast.