“Yes, great idea. Go, Mr. Tom. I’ve got this.” Natasha tried to push the old butler from her space.
“I just hope you don’t kill him, that’s the thing,” Mr. Tom replied, dragging his feet. “There is an art to putting someone to sleep without their knowing. I’m just not sure a woman who deals in poison and killing people should give it a whirl, are you?”
“I bake without killing people, Mr. Tom,” she replied. “I’m sure I can handle mixing a drink.”
“That remains to be seen. We’ll let Master Tristan be the first to try your cake.”
Cleaning up the weird mage’s station took no time at all. Tristan helped him carefully stow the potion in a safe place so it couldn’t be turned over, then waited until Sebastian’s back was turned before he swiped and pocketed three vials of the potion he’d need later on, kept in carefully labeled boxes with all the other magical stores they’d brought.
That done, he left the weird mage with Natasha, said he needed to use the restroom before he got back, and headed that way through the house. When he reached the little-used study, though, he quickly ducked in, heading into the far corner, where an older couch sat in front of a pristine though old-fashioned coffee table. A layer of dust had collected on each.
He lifted the couch with one hand and brought out his bundle, tucked away earlier in the day. He had one of these here, one in the room he’d been stationed in, a third buried outside the grounds at Kingsley’s, just off his property and under a rock, and two more in his luggage in case they needed to be stowed away elsewhere. He’d always been in the habit of being prepared. It had saved his life more times than he could count.
The clear plastic bottles, a tiny bit bigger than the vials he’d taken from the weird mage, weren’t labeled. He didn’t need the rope or cloth from this bundle, because both things were stocked in the garage. It didn’t matter that the cloths out there were ancient—based on smell, they were free of chemicals or oils, and the captured mage would be dying tonight anyway. Details wouldn’t matter.
After grabbing what he needed, he closed up his bundle and stowed it back under the couch.
Hopefully Austin didn’t get the sudden urge to read an old National Geographic and head in there, smelling his whereabouts before the scent grew stale.
He did actually use the restroom, making a show of it so the mages would hear.
“Light a match,” Natasha called from the kitchen.
She’d clearly paid attention to when he’d left her proximity and how long it had taken him to exit the bathroom. She was always aware of him, whether she admitted that fact to herself or not. She was aware of dangerous things. Alluring things. Things that felt good to be in the proximity of.
He didn’t respond, making his unhurried way back out to Jessie.
“There, miss, see?” Mr. Tom gestured at Tristan as he walked into the garage. “It’s fine. Tristan is on the case. All will be well.”
Edgar emerged from the shadows like a ghoul as Jessie grimaced, wringing her hands. The mage was slumped in his chair.
“What happened?” Tristan asked, having wanted to linger by the wall so no one—notably the vampire, who had a strangely keen sense for when a person was trying to hide something—would notice the things in his pockets. Instead, he veered, making sure his back pockets, holding the larger items, couldn’t be seen by the vampire.
“The miss was doing what anyone would’ve done and made sure the ropes were tied tightly,” Mr.
Tom said, his wings fluttering importantly. “When I tried to help, we got our wires crossed, and whoopsie daisy, the ropes slipped and the miss slammed him with a spell. Edgar, also wanting to help, quickly rushed in during the slipping rope situation and bit the mage on his arm.”
“It takes longer for my serum to work when the bite is way down on the shin like that. But his pants were tight and his arms were flailing, so I thought that was the best spot.”
“Yes, thank you, Edgar, though I see limbs confuse you as much as keeping time does. As you see, Tristan, this mage is knocked out. Very weak pulse. Edgar sucked a little too much blood, I think.”
“Or it was the spell,” Jessie said nervously. “I put a little too much power into it.”
“It’s okay, Jessie,” Edgar replied. “You can blame me. I don’t mind. We’ll say I didn’t know my own suck.” His smile slowly spread, revealing his elongated canines, stained red. “Get it?”