Edgar stood by the bushes near the porch, waiting. Gloating.
She had come back.
After all this time, after establishing a different life for herself, she’d freed herself up somehow, walked away, and come back.
Edgar had always said she would. He’d read something in her.
When she and young Miss Havercamp—Mrs. Drury now—had found the heart of the house, he’d watched them from the shadows. He’d instantly known the truth. Miss Havercamp wasn’t the heir. It was Jacinta.
Niamh hadn’t been convinced. People changed, especially Janes—non-magical women—Jessie’s age. They were shaped by society. Softened. Had their boldness smoothed out. Niamh had doubted, all those years ago, that Jessie would still be worthy by the time she was twenty. Certainly by middle age.
But lookey, lookey. That old vampire might’ve been right. It wasn’t set in stone yet, of course. The house still needed to assess the new charge. Still needed to see if she was the right fit. But it was a promising start that the house knew just when to prompt Earl to contact Peggy. There was a connection there that wasn’t usual.
Niamh had to own, though, that if Jessie was the right fit…well, that would certainly blow her mind. It would be a lot for a Jane to come to grips with at her age. Of course, it wasn’t that Jacinta was old. Niamh herself was pushing four-hundred. Earl might as well just roll over and die. Edgar was as old as dirt. Literally. He was so old he didn’t even function right. The vampire had turned from a hunter into a gatherer. His clan had shrugged and waved goodbye.
Age wouldn’t matter when the magic was once again unleashed from the heart of Ivy House. Everyone who tended the house, who protected it, would get a dose of power. Of strength.
Of youth.
No, Jessie’s age didn’t matter one lick, but the fact that she’d been blind to the supernatural for forty years would definitely be a problem. Niamh wondered how she’d react to the truth. If she’d believe it if it loomed large enough in front of her face.
Humans were notorious for turning a blind eye to things that didn’t fit their world view. Every so often they got privy to magical people, and then there were mass killing sprees, taking out magicals and non-magicals alike, but that only happened once in a great while. Most of the time, humans were shockingly good at convincing themselves the world around them was as mundane as they were, and that was that. Nothing to see here, folks.
Niamh rocked slowly, feeling the age in her joints. The tightness in her back.
Her four-hundredth birthday had been a tough one. Over the hill and past her prime. Well past her prime. Old even by the reckoning of her species. Past her child-bearing years, past ripping off heads and sticking them on spikes—hell, she was even past a good old-fashioned village raiding party.
Not that she couldn’t muster up the energy if she really wanted to, but she didn’t. Battle was just too much work. Too much running around. Fairly stupid when you thought about it. If there was a problem, talking it out and reaching a compromise got things done much faster and with a lot less funeral flowers. Those things were expensive.
She sighed, taking in the peaceful street. The pleasant night and soft green grass.
She half hoped Ivy House didn’t wake up at all. That it would keep its magic to itself, mostly dormant under that creepy old mausoleum. Because if it did pass its magic along to Jessie, it would draw all manner of masters, packs, clans, and mages. Poor O’Briens would be overrun. And every single one of those incoming strangers would compete for Jessie’s blessing and support. Wanting to choose which throne she’d sit on. Trying to plan her life for her.
Niamh grinned. Fat chance.
That lady was done with letting other people tell her what to do, Niamh had seen it in her eyes. Seen it in the way she’d ended their conversation abruptly and shown herself out. Seen it in her bearing. Jessie Evans had been through the grinder, and she’d made it out the other side tougher. Stronger. Less likely to deal with anyone’s crap. She might need a little convincing of that, but it was there.
Maybe that’s why she hadn’t made her way back to Ivy House until midlife. Strength and vitality were lost on the young. They simply didn’t know what to do with it. They charged through doors and stuck people with knives and chased creatures with silver-tipped arrows, and at the end of it all, they didn’t learn a damned thing. Not one thing.
Give all that strength and vitality to someone with intelligence and experience?
Well. Now you had something.
Maybe fate had unfolded this way for a reason.
Niamh rocked slowly, thinking it all through. If the house unleashed its burden, she and Edgar and even that eejit Earl would have to take up their positions as Jessie’s protectors. They’d crush skulls and blast…