A knock sounded at the front door. Nessa eyed Sebastian, a warning of some sort, before jogging that way. He still had no clue what was going on. Something to do with Tristan, but—
“Get your face on,” she said, jogging by again. “And your wings.”
He turned and looked after her, his mind swirling with fatigue now that he’d stepped away from all his projects. A nearly empty casserole dish of lasagna sat on the counter and his stomach grumbled. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten. His thoughts were a swampy mess in his head as he drifted over to it, thinking about getting a bowl and then having a notion that that was wrong somehow.
“Hi, bestie.” Edgar smiled as he approached the island. “Oh wow, look at this, huh? Delicious.”
He rubbed his stomach.
“Yes. I was thinking of having some, actually. Would you like some? Nessa is a fantastic cook. A better baker, but that’s beside the point.”
“Is it?” Edgar asked.
“I’m really not sure.”
Edgar nodded as though that all made sense, and panic flared through Sebastian, carrying a nice dose of adrenaline. He seemed to remember it was a bad sign if Edgar thought he made sense. Yes, no question—he had to snap out of it. He couldn’t go to sleep yet. Something needed his attention.
With that in mind, he crossed to the fridge and grabbed out an energy drink. Time for his fourth or fifth wind.
“We’re on the move,” Edgar said, dogging his heels. “I regret to inform you that I will need to ask to be retired very soon.”
“Again?”
“I’m afraid so. I did leave town when I knew I shouldn’t have, and planted about five flowers, which I definitely shouldn’t have done, but they were starting to turn surly. I figured I’d better plant them before they dug their heels into the ground and started eating townspeople.”
Sebastian paused at the front door. He really needed this Red Bull to work faster, because his mind still wasn’t making sense of words. Or maybe that was a good thing in this instance?
“Just this way, I think.” Edgar gestured down the stairs and to the right. “I also would like to confess that I brought a few gnomes from Ivy House. I know I shouldn’t have, but they really are very good at sneak attacks, and isn’t that what we need—”
“Wait…” Sebastian stopped at the closed garage door, his hand up. “Did you say you brought gnomes?”
Edgar nodded, one eye blinking slowly and the other staying open, which was both hilarious and terrifying. This dead creature’s parts were now starting to malfunction.
“Is that funny?” he asked, and Sebastian realized he was horror-laughing. That was a new one.
“It really shouldn’t be. How’d you get gnomes here?”
“Very carefully and with a lot of rope and duct tape. One escaped on the plane. He must’ve chewed his way out, because half of the blood I brought was spilled on my clothes and there was a hole at the corner of the suitcase and no gnome. I’m sure the airport has anti-gnome strategies in place, though. It should be fine.”
Edgar paused for a long moment, looking at Sebastian placidly. Sebastian didn’t have the words to stop this madness. He just stared back, hoping for the best.
“I flew here by way of gargoyle,” Edgar said pleasantly and with a little smile.
Sebastian started laughing again.
“Hey.” Tristan laid a heavy hand on Sebastian’s shoulder from behind. Sebastian didn’t even startle. You really couldn’t be afraid of anything after having been trapped in mental gymnastics with an ancient vampire. “You okay, bud?”
“No, I don’t think so,” Sebastian answered. “Edgar has thrown me for a loop. I half wonder if I’m having a nightmare.”
“At least we can share the nightmare together,” Edgar said with that little smile.
“I need your help.” Tristan steered Sebastian around the corner of the garage and to a side door.
“The mage woke up. He tried to blast me with magic, but it obviously didn’t have much effect on me.”
Sebastian pounded the rest of his energy drink, trying to crank his mind back to life, and waited while Tristan opened the door.
“His magic didn’t work on you, huh?” he asked the gargoyle with mysterious blood origins.
“Hardly at all, no. Whatever spell it was felt like a gentle slap. He seemed to think a potion had protected me, so he tried again with the same effect. The definition of insanity, I guess, right? Trying the same thing but expecting different results.”
“Not…so much in this case. How is he contained?”
“I tied his hands with cable for now. Nessa gave me a potion to feed him to strip away his invisibility spell. He seems to have gotten enough down, so you should be good.”
“Sebastian, wait, your wings and face,” Nessa called, but Sebastian was already entering the garage, still a little hazy as to what in the world she was talking about.
It wasn’t until the tied-up mage looked up from the seat where he’d been confined, in the middle of the mostly empty garage with oil stains on the concrete floor, that Nessa’s words finally made sense.
The mage sitting there said, “Elliot Graves,” in an accusatory voice.
When said by a mage, so often in that way, the name acted like a trigger. Sebastian’s spine straightened of its own accord, his shoulders rolling back and a little smirk taking over his expression. His arm came up, as though he had a watch, and he posed in that humble, dirty garage like he was wearing a three-thousand-dollar suit.
“Oops, you’ve caught me,” he said, his speech a little lilted and his tone filled with sardonic humor. “I’d ask what brings you to this sprawling shifter pack, but we both know the answer, don’t we?”
The mage, an unremarkable middle-aged man with brown eyes and thin lips, didn’t strain against the ropes. He didn’t try to twist his arms to the sides to use his fingers for magic, which meant he probably couldn’t pull off the more complex spells that would require such steps. His body was athletic, though, slim and fit. He was a field guy. A spy or a runner. A guy with a decent amount of magic who’d proven he was great at getting himself out of tight spots. A guy with a sixth sense, mages would say, able to detect the unseen.
Well, sixth senses and intuition wouldn’t protect anyone from an attack-flower-planting vampire who never did as he was told.
“You’re the mage backing the female gargoyle?” The mage sneered. “You think a bunch of altruistic shifters and weird magical creatures are going to help you regain your perch as the king of mages? You’re going to need a lot more than that to take on Momar.”
“Hello, hello.” Nessa walked in with black stiletto boots up past her knee, a miniskirt, and fishnet stockings. Black eyeliner had been hastily drawn around her eyes and her hair was pulled up into a sort of messy punk-rock bun. She must’ve heard Sebastian being outed as Elliot and thus rushed to don her own alter ego. “Sorry I’m late—I was preparing for the info extraction.”