“Ooh, unicorn,” a little girl said with a beaming smile, toddling up and hugging Niamh’s front leg.
She stood still while the mother jogged over to retrieve her child. Other kids played within the nicer of the magical flowers, this version of Edgar’s concoctions more like dogs than flora. The basajaunak probably had something to do with that, working tirelessly with Edgar to make sure the flowers were happy and well adjusted—also staying near them whenever people were around, ensuring there was no danger to the townspeople.
They’d done some job of it. The flowers, a few spread around the square and the rest throughout the town, swayed happily whenever someone petted them or brushed against their leaves. They reached out to stroke the hair of passing children and tickled the fingertips of adults. One flower caught a little boy who’d tripped. It was hard to imagine these things would protect anybody.
But when another one of those mage creatures had come sniffing through town in the dead of night two nights ago, it’d gotten too close to one of the magical flowers and ended up poisoned and ripped to shreds. When it came time to protect their friends, they did their job. Niamh hated to say it, but Edgar had gotten this one right.
Well…with the town flowers, at least.
The flowers on the outskirts were vicious, surly, dangerous things. They’d found one of the mages’
creatures, too. There hadn’t been much of the thing left when the flower was done. All the townspeople were warned to stay away, and the pack protectors took pains to make friends or avoid them altogether. One of the shifters had veered too close without trying to make friends and nearly lost an arm. Indigo had to be rushed out to heal him before the flower poison did him in.
Those flowers would need to be destroyed when this was all over—there was nothing else for it.
Edgar would just have to soldier on.
Niamh brushed against the leaves of an enormous pink sunflower, feeling it tickle the sides of her stomach as another kid ran at her with arms outstretched. A boy this time. He yanked on Niamh’s tail and got a swat with it for his efforts.
“Sorry—Tommy, no!” The man pulled the giggling little boy away.
“Unicorn!” the child said, struggling to get back to Niamh.
“We’re good here,” said the basandere—Dave’s mom—walking over from the nearby trees. “The townspeople seem content. Those with families and children, at least.” She glanced toward the north.
“The ones who spend time in the bars aren’t so content.”
There’d been a fight or two, almost always between a shifter and a gargoyle, many of them instigated by someone Niamh had put up to it. Unrest after dark was a great means of distraction. It kept the peacekeepers busy so she could get out of town without being noticed. This pack was just too easy to manipulate.
She nodded and issued a soft neigh before cantering into the center of the grass to take flight. She didn’t want to accidentally brain some kid.
A short flight later, she was landing on Austin Steele’s property. No wonder he’d designed and built his own house in O’Briens. Coming from this one, with its shallow ceilings, cramped backyard, and narrow staircases, he’d probably been desperate for improvements. She shifted and headed for the door.
A few purple muumuus sat in a stack on the front porch for those flying in to speak to the alphas, and Niamh grabbed one and pulled it on before knocking. This wasn’t like Ivy House, where a body could just walk in. Austin Steele was not as easygoing about his personal space as Jessie was.
The door swung open, revealing the man himself wearing track suit bottoms, a plain white T-shirt, and bare feet. The smell of sweat permeated his person and his hair stuck up at odd angles.
“Does Jessie not have a sense of smell?” Niamh walked forward when he stepped out of the way.
“I was just about to take a shower. I need a word. Come with me.” He led her through the quiet house and to the basement, where various boxes had been neatly organized with magical descriptions on each, Sebastian’s stockpile of potions. He’d been adding to them every day, working harder than probably anyone in the territory, being drugged to sleep and waking up and going at it again.
“Tristan’s story about the mage we caught the other day doesn’t check out.” Austin Steele paused, probably waiting for Niamh to get on the same page. She nodded, and then he explained the state in which he’d found the mage and the discrepancies in the story.
“It sounds like he made a potentially complicated situation very simple,” she said, impressed.