Chapter 6

6

After spending the morning going over the books to make sure I was balancing them correctly—it’s always a joy to have someone half your age checking your math—my intern brought over a list of maintenance requests that tenants had filed.

“Do you want me to make calls and arrange appointments for contractors to come out and give estimates?” Bolin asked. “Or are these the kinds of repairs you handle yourself?”

I perused the list, glad for the distraction. We were sitting in the leasing office while rain fell outside, pattering off the walkways. I’d been answering tenant emails and inquiries about vacancies, but I’d also kept glancing at my phone, wondering if I should call my cousin back.

Augustus hadn’t left a message, so maybe it had been a butt-dial, and he hadn’t meant to reach out. If so, it had been the first time his butt had chanced upon my number in years. Decades? As with the rest of the pack, he’d ignored me since I’d left. No, since I’d started taking the potion. Leaving and turning one’s back on one’s family was offensive, but leaving and turning one’s back on one’s heritage… That was unacceptable .

If I hadn’t been so sure that Duncan wanted something from me, I would have been surprised he was talking to me.

The night before, as promised, he’d offered to buy me dinner, even producing normal currency—not grime-coated coins from past decades. I’d declined, insisting on paying for my meal, but I had spent an hour with him while we dined on chicken skewers, Asian slaw, and rice doused in teriyaki sauce. The fact that he’d ordered four extra skewers and barely touched the sides attested to his carnivorous ways. The wolf in me also craved meat, but I’d never made enough money to buy heaps of it, so I’d learned to make do with grains and vegetables. Besides, that was what normal humans ate, and I’d never wanted to stand out in a suspicious you’re-clearly-a-dangerous-paranormal-predator way.

During our meal, Duncan had been an agreeable enough companion. And, when he’d gazed pensively off into the distance, I’d caught myself noticing how handsome his profile was. His usually present smile and frequent winks made him look a touch goofy, but he’d been anything but that when he’d been fighting. He’d been… amazing.

Bolin cleared his throat, and I blushed, turning my attention back to the list of maintenance requests.

“I can wash the bird poop off the outside of D-43’s windows,” I murmured, ignoring his lip curl. Such an activity was probably beneath a scion of the Sylvan family. Maybe I would bring him with me and make him hold my begrimed scrub brush. “And let’s go take a look at this leak and see how bad it is. I usually call Alex or José if a plumbing job is going to involve cutting into the wall or ceiling. And if there’s mold that needs to be remediated… that’s the worst. Tenants can sue over mold.”

“When you say let’s , do you mean you want me to come with you?” Bolin looked longingly toward the desk and computer, as if the spreadsheet pulled up was more appealing than doing physical labor .

I couldn’t imagine feeling that way. “Yeah, it means let us . Did you study contractions for your spelling bee?”

“No. I studied Latin and Greek rules regarding word origins.”

“Fascinating.” I grabbed my toolbox. “You can tell me about them while you hold my wrench.”

“Are you really interested?” Bolin gave me a wary-hopeful look. Not sure if I’d been sarcastic and was mocking him?

One probably shouldn’t quash the passions of one’s intern, no matter how much one didn’t want an intern.

“I’m not un interested,” I offered as we headed out the door.

“Does that mean you’ve never been inclined to research the subject matter but also wouldn’t fall asleep while I waxed poetically on orthography?”

“I almost never fall asleep while I’m in the middle of fixing leaks, so your odds are good of a semi-alert pupil.”

“Oh,” Bolin said brightly, trotting after me, maybe reading more enthusiasm into my comment than I’d intended. “Did you know the word orthography comes from the Greek root of orthos, which means right or correct and graphein, which means to write ?”

“Fascinating.”

As my intern went into more depth, I picked up the pace, following a walkway through the rain and over to the next building. I waved, almost relieved to find the twenty-something tenant waiting outside in front of his unit, the overhang protecting him from the weather. With a laptop bag slung over his shoulder, he was ready to head to work.

When he pulled out an inhaler and took a hit, my relief evaporated. Whether he meant it to be or not, I had a feeling that was a condemnation of the air quality inside his apartment.

“Hi, Mr. Davis,” I said. “You heading out for the day?”

That would give me time to resolve the leak issue as much as possible before he returned.

“Yeah. In a minute.” Davis nodded for us to go in .

Before stepping inside, I looked past the lawn and toward the greenbelt. After the previous night’s attack, I now expected to spot red eyes glowing from the shadows under every tree. I didn’t, but I’d had the feeling of being watched every time I’d walked outside that morning.

Later, I would call Augustus. As much as I dreaded his snark and condemnation, I had to figure out what was going on.

“The leak is in the ceiling.” After breathing in a second puff of his medicine, Davis visibly braced himself and walked inside.

Even before we reached the bathroom, I could smell the musty scent permeating the apartment. Definitely mold. It was, as far as I was concerned, the scourge of the Pacific Northwest.

“I noticed that discolored spot a while ago.” The tenant pointed toward the ceiling over his toilet. “And it’s been getting larger. Now there’s water dribbling down the wall.”

Since I was, as my boss Ed always assured me, in the customer-service business—AKA the customer -pleasing business—I kept myself from asking why Davis hadn’t brought the leak to my attention when he’d first noticed it.

“We’ll get it handled as soon as possible,” I said instead.

Davis looked curiously at Bolin.

“That’s my new intern,” I said. “He’s great at plumbing. What’s the root of the word plumbing, Bolin?”

“Ah.” Bolin’s expression was one of protest, but he did offer, “The Latin plumbum . That means lead because they had lead pipes back then. It contaminated the drinking water, and some historians believe that lead poisoning was common and contributed to gout in the Roman armies. It may have been behind the infamous madness of Emperor Caligula. It could have even led to the downfall of the entire Roman Empire.”

“Poisoning?” Davis lowered his inhaler and stared up at the water-stained ceiling.

“We don’t have lead pipes.” I resolved not to consult Bolin on any more word origins, at least not in front of tenants. “We’ll get this fixed up. Why don’t you head to work, Mr. Davis?”

He nodded and hustled for the door, doubtless eager to escape the musty air—or perhaps his incipient lead poisoning. I sighed.

“I don’t suppose you have a potion in there—” I waved at Bolin’s fancy leather bag, nobly resisting the urge to call it a man purse, “—that fixes mold?”

We couldn’t see any green fuzz growing on the ceiling, but my nose promised me it lurked behind the damp drywall.

“I don’t have potions ,” Bolin whispered and glanced around, as if an eavesdropper or smart device might be listening. The latter wasn’t that uncommon in the apartments anymore. I was always careful not to scratch my butt or fart too loudly on my maintenance calls.

“What’d you throw in the parking lot yesterday?” I hadn’t asked him then, and had almost forgotten about it, but that concoction had been useful. It occurred to me that he—or maybe his globetrotting parents—might know of an alchemist who could supply me. Even if Duncan could find someone, I would prefer not to be beholden to him.

“A chemical compound not dissimilar to a smoke grenade.”

“It looked like it might be an alchemical compound.”

Bolin eyed me warily. Worried I would rat him out for having ties to the paranormal world? To, if Duncan had been correct, a druid family?

With secrets of my own, I wasn’t inclined to blab about anyone else’s.

“I know a thing or two about the paranormal,” I offered. “I’m not bothered by people who practice the various arts.”

“Oh.” Bolin’s wariness turned to relief and then curiosity as he looked me up and down. “When we first met, I thought… You seem a little… I’m not sure.”

“I get that a lot.” I smirked at him .

He didn’t appear amused. “In college, I got into some… stuff. My mom doesn’t know. My dad… might, but he doesn’t talk about magic when she’s around, and he changes the subject if I try to talk about it. I don’t know why. My grandpa—my dad’s dad—was from Ireland. I’m not supposed to know, but Dad studied magic with Grandpa before he passed. Dad can read Gaelic and has books on druid stuff in his office—he tells Mom that they’re history books, but I know better.” Bolin lowered his voice. “My grandpa was a druid, and, when I was a kid, he said I had the knack. But Mom shooed him away when he said that, and Grandpa didn’t come around the house after that. Mom wanted me to grow up to be normal .”

“Yeah? Was she the one who thought violins and spelling bees were good ideas?”

“Extracurricular activities help with college applications and scholarships. And normal people play musical instruments.” Bolin scowled at me in defiance. “I do admit that the summer I tinkered with the theremin may have gotten me picked on by the neighbor kids.”

“Kids are mean,” I said to be sympathetic—and because I wanted to know if he had a potion supplier. “Where do you get your chemical concoctions?”

“My dad has a stash that my mom doesn’t know about.”

I slumped with disappointment. He didn’t have a supplier, just whatever his father kept in a desk drawer. It was highly unlikely a real-estate investor and businessman—even one with druid tendencies—would have werewolf-sublimation potions in his office.

“I’m not supposed to know about his stash either,” Bolin added, “but I’ve always been a curious sort.”

“Is that a way of saying you’re a huge snoop?”

“I’m barely five-foot-six and weigh in at one-twenty. I’m not a huge anything. ”

“So a small-to-medium snoop.”

That earned me another scowl.

Bolin had probably been beaten up in school, especially if he’d regularly informed his peers about the roots of words. Maybe that was what had prompted him to get into the druid stuff. I imagined him slinging potions—chemical concoctions—at bullies.

“Well, if your dad has anything that can eradicate mold, I would pay for that.” I eyed the leak and pulled out my phone to call one of the contractors we worked with.

“Druid magic usually enhances and stimulates plant growth, not the other way around.”

“Mold isn’t a plant . It’s an infestation.”

“It’s technically a fungus, so it would be more of a colonization than an infestation. Also, it’s a natural part of the environment.”

“Not when it grows in walls and turns my tenants asthmatic.” The call dropped to voicemail, and I left a message.

“It might be possible to convince it to grow elsewhere.” Bolin scratched his jaw thoughtfully. “I’d have to do some research, and you’d have to remove the water source.”

“That’s the plan. I—” My instincts warned me of someone magical approaching.

Phone tucked back into my pocket, I stepped out the front door.

Duncan was ambling up, his affable smile on his face. That didn’t keep me from remembering how he’d fought the night before or how he’d almost changed into a much more dangerous version of himself.

A weird sensation teased my gut. It might have been dread, foreboding, or the nervous anticipation of… something.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Duncan said, “but I parked in the staff spot next to that gleaming Mercedes SUV. The guest parking was full.”

“You’re not a guest. That parking was never for you. ”

“After all we’ve been through together, I’m not a guest?” Duncan planted his palm on his chest as he raised his eyebrows. “I’m aggrieved.”

“You’re definitely not staff.” I resisted the urge to threaten to have his van towed. We had been through a lot in the last twenty-four hours. I didn’t trust him, not in the least, but it was hard to deny that he’d helped me out. Twice.

“That’s my car.” Bolin leaned out of the apartment to look at us.

Duncan eyed him, all twenty-two years of him. “You buy Bitcoin when it was cheap or something?”

“No, my parents bought rental properties when they were cheap.” Bolin waved at the complex.

“Ah, so you’re privileged and spoiled?”

“I…” Bolin glanced at me, as if I might prove his defender. “I admit to enjoying privilege. Thanks for keeping those bikers from vandalizing my car yesterday.”

“I do try to help people.” Duncan bowed to him, then focused on me. “Might we talk privately, my lady?”

“You’re not going to ask me on another date, are you?”

“That’s not why I came, no, but I did find last night quite stimulating and invigorating.”

Bolin made a face and squeezed past Duncan, hurrying toward the leasing office.

“I’ll go start that research,” he called back.

“Research?” Duncan asked curiously.

“We have a mold colonization.”

Duncan sniffed toward the doorway. “Ah. Quite.”

“Thanks again for your help yesterday,” I made myself say, though my mistrust for him made the words come out grudgingly, “but what do you want? I’m not looking to stimulate or invigorate you again.” Once more, I glanced toward the woods, hoping that would prove true .

“You asked about potion suppliers.”

I grew less grudging and more hopeful. “Yes, I did.”

“One of my contacts got back to me about a promising local person. She doesn’t know the alchemist’s phone number, but she did share an address, so we can go visit. Or you can if you don’t want to spend more time with me. I’ll allow that’s a possibility, however puzzling I find it.”

“I haven’t figured out why you want to spend time with me .” I looked frankly at him.

Without hesitation, he said, “Because of your conveniently placed parking lot adjacent to those enticing woodlands.”

“Uh-huh. I’m sure the greenbelt next to the freeway is a treasure trove waiting to be pillaged.”

“It’s not without merit. And the view isn’t bad either.” He smiled, then gave me a deeper bow.

“I turn forty-six this winter, I’m not wearing any makeup, and nothing in my wardrobe is sexy.” I plucked at the men’s Henley that I usually threw on anytime I expected to end up under sinks or in crawlspaces. “I’m not sure I even rubbed on my wrinkle cream this morning.”

Okay, I didn’t have any legitimate wrinkles yet, but the creases in my forehead had grown more noticeable of late. For the first time in my life, I was contemplating bangs. I’d already had to dye my hair, thanks to the insidious grays that had appeared at my hairline.

“And yet your radiant beauty is like that of the sun, a sizzlingly appealing beacon that must continue to draw men of all ages.”

“Say more crap like that, and I’ll renew my threats to have you towed.”

“You’re a hard woman to woo.”

“Because I don’t want to be wooed. The last time I let that happen, I ended up with two kids. Two kids who are now adults , I’ll point out. ”

Technically, Austin was only eighteen and had the maturity of a labradoodle, but I trusted the Air Force would turn him adultish before long. If nothing else, he would have to learn to do his own laundry.

“Growing old is to be cherished. Not everyone gets to do it. I recently turned fifty and am often befuddled that I’ve managed to live long enough to gain silver streaks in my pelt.” He pushed a hand through his salt-and-pepper locks.

“Silver? You’re not a precious metal. Those are patches of gray.”

Unflappable, Duncan lowered his hand. “Despite your prickly demeanor, I will relay the message my contact gave me. She suggests bringing any remains you have of your existing magical concoction, including a list of ingredients, if you know them. I wasn’t entirely sure what your potion is but thought I might have the gist and mentioned it to her.”

I struggled between wanting to bare my teeth—I didn’t want anyone gisting about my private potion use—and being appreciative that he had a lead for me.

“My contact wasn’t familiar with a potion that does what I think yours does and said the local alchemist might need to do some research,” Duncan continued. “The more information you can give her, the better. Do you know what it’s made from?”

“Sort of.”

“Hm.”

“I can find out.” How, I didn’t know, since only a few of the ingredients were written on the labels, but I would attempt some research. “Thanks.”

I lifted my hand, intending to shoo him toward the greenbelt, but hesitated. Duncan kept helping me. Even though I mistrusted him, I did appreciate that. And if I kept snarking at him, it would be bitchy. I was probably already being bitchy .

With a sigh, and the fear that I would regret it, I asked, “Would you like a cup of coffee before you return to… work ?”

I waved toward the trees, not fully able to take the sarcasm out of the word. If he made enough money to live on by scavenging in the woods—and the lakes—I would be shocked.

Duncan beamed a smile at me. “I would love a cup of coffee.”

That smile appeared triumphant, and my certainty that I would regret making the offer returned.