Magical Midlife Madness： A Paranormal Women's Fiction Novel(22)

My gaze lingered on the bare midriff of one of the women. What I wouldn’t give to have my four pack back. If I had one, I’d show it off, too. No jiggling when this forty-year-old moved, no-siree. I’d want to put it out there as proof.

I gritted my teeth. I would put it out there as proof. Why else was I running? Soon I’d get my diet under control—no more binging cookies right before bed—and then I’d be a rock star. I could do this!

Okay, not as many cookies before bed. A lady had to live.

A loner sat in the middle of the bar and the bored bartender stared at his phone, leaning near the cash register. Didn’t seem like much of an exciting place unless you brought your own friends. Not like Austin Steele’s place, with people playing pool and most of the clientele chatting and exchanging greetings.

The memory of what he’d said swam through my memory. My gut twisted.

Maybe he was right. I clearly didn’t fit in here. Yes, that was starting to look like a compliment, but the betrayal still stung. He’d listened to me. He’d walked me home. Those were things gentlemen did. Things that seemed to be dying off with the younger generation.

But he wasn’t a gentleman at all. He thought I was lowering the status of his crazy community.

I walked on, approaching the edge of the strip.

What was Austin’s game, anyway? Why help me out if he wanted me to fail?

And what was the deal with the name Steele? Really, Steele? He probably came up with that name himself. A silver fox rebranding his middle age—“I can still hang with the young bucks, because I’m made of steel!”

Well, I didn’t need to rebrand myself to know I was awesome. I might be in the middle of a full-blown identity crisis, with a mom bod and no craps left to give, but I could still run circles around my twenty-year-old self.

Okay, not run per se. The only thing that bitch couldn’t beat me to was an ice cream truck.

But I’d think circles around her! I had money matters on lock. I knew how to juggle running a household, managing bills, working, taking classes at the city college, and raising a human being. At twenty, I could barely keep myself alive.

I had become fiercer, too. Being a mom really taught you the meaning of self-sacrifice and absolute courage. I would run into fire for my son. I’d step in front of a bullet. I’d throw myself at any danger, no matter how terrifying, just to see him to safety. And I’d do it all without blinking.

The courage of a mother could not be measured. We toiled in the background, day in and day out, without thanks, so our children could become their best selves. We sacrificed ourselves for our loved ones, and we did it silently. Gladly. Full of love.

I blew out a frustrated breath. What kind of bad sort of person was Austin calling me, anyway?

You know what? I didn’t even care. I liked that house. It spoke to me. It felt like home. So what if the neighbor was violent and drank like a sailor. And so what if the gardener liked to fool unsuspecting children with his well-tended shrubbery. And who cared if the butler thought he was a super hero and didn’t really understand personal space—they all had big hearts. They’d welcomed me. That said something about their character. If the only problem was some muscle-bound guy who’d never grown out of his hotness, so be it. I didn’t need friends like that, anyway. He would not find a way to push me out of that house. It was my home now, and I protected my home.

Except for the doll room. That still had to go. That was too far.

I nodded to myself, approaching the intersection that would bring me to Austin’s bar. Niamh was probably there, a six pack in and not feeling it.

I hesitated on the corner in indecision. It’s not like we’d had plans. Or even that she needed me. Based on what I’d seen last night, she had a history of heading to the pub alone.

Besides, I didn’t have any money, and really didn’t want to drink.

Mind made up, I continued on toward the house. Which was when I noticed a strange sensation burrowing between my shoulder blades, like someone was watching me. Like danger lurked somewhere out there.

This area was host to mountain lions that came down from the hills. Bears, maybe, in search of trash cans. I hoped so, at any rate, because I’d take an animal stalker over a human one any day. Humans could be sick and twisted, and they weren’t likely to scare off if you played dead or put your arms wide and said, “Hah!”

Gulping, playing it cool, I glanced right, trying to pierce the darkness with my gaze. Nothing moved but the restless leaves.

Looking straight again, I monitored the other side in my peripheral vision. Still no movement. But I didn’t doubt what I felt. A predator awaited me in the shadows, their interest in me keen.

Pressure building in my chest, I slowly increased my speed, half thinking of running back toward Niamh.

Okay, fine. Maybe I was also thinking of heading toward Austin Steele. That guy had made it clear that he didn’t tolerate aggression in his bar, and he did not shy away from a fight.

I pulled out my phone, ready to tap the screen.

A shape coalesced a ways in front of me, slinking out from the shadows. Thin but without curves, I pegged it as a man.

A man who’d better watch himself, or he was going to get an aggressive eye-gouge.

Still playing it cool, though my heart felt like it might pound through my chest, I tapped the screen of my phone. Niamh’s number, tested last night, was near the top of the list.

“Hello,” the man said, strolling forward slowly. A stroll that suggested his interest was me, and maybe also the lovely dark street where a villain could get away with murder if they acted quickly enough.

“Hey,” I said, thinking of crossing the street.

I pulled my phone closer to my face, shaking a little with the warning tremors of a potentially bad situation. I tapped Niamh’s number and called, no justifiable reason to call the cops since nothing had really happened, but needing backup just in case. If something happened, hopefully she’d call the cops for me. Or call Austin.

“Lovely night,” the man said, veering into the center of the sidewalk, blocking my way.

Ten feet to go. If I crossed to the other side of the street, it might motivate him to chase me, but passing him this closely posed its own risks.

“Sure.” I opted to cross the street diagonally, walking fast but not running. He was trim and an old lady had passed me earlier, I didn’t want him running after me. I doubted I would win that race, and the effort would only tire me out.

“Hello?” I heard, Niamh thankfully answering her phone.

“I wanted to speak with you for a moment,” the man said and moved to intercept, his gait long and his speed picking up.

“Jessie?” Niamh said, talking and laughter in the background. She was clearly at the pub.

“Need help,” I said into the phone quickly. “Almost home. On our street—”

The phone was ripped out of my hand.

Surprised, terrified, I reacted with my usual linguistics.

“Hah!” I twisted and threw out an arm.

My elbow battered someone in the mouth, cracking his head back. My phone skittered across the ground.

“Help!” I shouted, already running.

My face smacked into solid air. My body splatted against...

There was nothing there, I realized as I staggered back, wide-eyed. Nothing was in my way. What had I hit?

Large hands clamped on my upper arms. A backward glance told me it was the man I’d bashed with my elbow, his lip bleeding and a surly expression on his face. This was a second guy, different than the one who’d followed me.

“Help!” I cried, still disoriented but knowing my phone was on. Knowing, if I yelled loud enough, Niamh was liable to hear. “Help! I’m nearly home.”

The guy that held me pivoted and stomped on my phone.

“No!” I yelled, balling my fists. “What do you think I am, made of money? Why would you do that? Just freaking turn it off.”

“’Bout that home…” The first man stepped in front of me. I hadn’t gotten a good look earlier—too intent on getting away to care what he looked like—so I hadn’t noticed his weird attire. He had on black gloves, a long black velvet cape, and a tuxedo underneath. Mr. Tom clearly wasn’t the only would-be superhero magician.

“Trick or treat,” I muttered, my mouth getting away from me.

“What role do you play within that house?” the man asked.

“I’m the new caretaker. I clean the place, that’s it. It doesn’t belong to me. It’s my friend’s aunt’s. Do you want some tea or something? I’m sure Mr. Tom, the butler, will happily make some for you. My neighbor definitely would. She’d even throw in a sandwich or two coupled with a little abuse about your outfit. Not that anyone would blame—”

“Your friend’s aunt’s…” His eyes squinted. “You’re not of the Havercamps?”

“No! I’m an Evans. Well…legally I’m an Evans. I started out a McMillan. I don’t even really have my own last name. It’s just given and taken away from me based on which men are in my life—”

“Silence.”

I clicked my mouth shut, cutting off the random babbling. Panic fuzzed the edges of my awareness. Deep breaths helped clear my vision a little, but the second man’s grip was starting to hurt, digging into my flesh. I still didn’t know what they wanted.