I slid into a short black tulle petticoat, then a flared pleather skirt, a sheer black long-sleeved blouse, and then a purple corset over the top. I was wearing a garter belt so I added fishnet stockings, then platform patent leather knee-high boots that had so many buckles and chains they jingled when I walked. I brushed out my hair, did my face, and when I reentered the dining room, my mother and Kipa turned, staring at me.
“How did I get to have such a gorgeous daughter?” Phasmoria asked.
“Forget gorgeous daughter—I have a beautiful girlfriend,” Kipa said, waggling a piece of bacon at her.
“Knock it off, you two. Thanks, I know you mean it but I also know you’re trying to cheer me up. I dress like I feel, and right now, I feel decked out for war against the Banra-Sheagh.” I stabbed a couple waffles with my fork and dropped them on my plate. Then, I added eight rashers of bacon, a scoop of scrambled eggs, and I filled my dessert bowl with the fruit salad. “Caffeine?” I asked plaintively.
Kipa jumped up and a moment later he returned with a steaming mug filled with peppermint mocha. “Here you go.”
“Thank you.” I leaned back. They were acting oddly today. “Look, I appreciate your efforts. I do. Yes, I’m in a state of shock about everything that went down last night, but…it’s not like she ordered a bounty on my head. My father abandoned me and I’m kicked out of the special club I was born into. Am I upset? Yes, but it’s not like when Pandora decided to use me as a guinea pig for how much pain she could inflict. Please, relax and enjoy breakfast with me?”
Phasmoria glanced at Kipa. “I told you this would be her answer.”
“You were right,” he said, laughing, and handed her a five-dollar bill.
“You bet money on how I’d react?”
I tried to scowl but the fact that my mother and boyfriend were taking bets on my reactions hit me as absurd but fitting, and I was already feeling on edge. I burst into laughter, which was quickly followed by a bout of tears, and then I managed to get hold of myself as Kipa handed me a tissue and I wiped my eyes and nose.
“Okay, maybe I am hypersensitive,” I added after I took a long sip of my coffee.
“Better out than in,” Kipa said. “That goes for food poisoning and for emotions, too.”
Phasmoria gave him a long look. “Can we please not talk about vomiting at the table?”
Kipa lowered his eyes. “Yes, ma’am.”
I took a long breath, then exhaled slowly. “All right, so my father’s withdrawn his support. He’s asked for all the money back he spent on me for the house over the years—”
“I’ve taken care of that,” Phasmoria said. “I hope they choke on it.”
“Thank you,” I whispered. “You’ve come to my rescue a lot over the past year or so. I don’t know how to show you how much I appreciate it.”
“You don’t have to. You needed help. I’m your mother. If this had been something incredibly stupid or flighty, I’d let you fend for yourself for a while before intervening, but it’s neither. I find it incredibly vulgar of your father to ask for the money. But I know Dougal put him up to it. He may be Ante-Fae, but he’s also a Scot and they can be…”
“Cheap?” I asked, laughing.
“I was going to say frugal, but yes, that’s the gist of it.” Phasmoria handed me the maple syrup.
I doused my waffles with it. “Good thing I picked up more syrup yesterday.”
“So, what are you going to do today?” Phasmoria asked. “I’m sorry your party was such a bust last night. If I had known they were going to show up during it, I would have suggested you postpone it.”
“Doesn’t matter now,” I said with a shrug. “I’m going over to Vixen’s at one to see what kind of a mess they’ve gotten themselves into now. But Vixen’s usually both careful and smart. If they’re worried about a friend, I’m guessing the problem doesn’t have an easy fix. Vixen doesn’t exaggerate.”
“Are you working at the shop today?” Kipa asked.
I glanced at the calendar. “No, it’s Sunday and Llew has started closing the shop early on Sundays. He’s open for about four hours now. But he’s expanded his Saturday hours for classes and workshops on tarot, crystal magic, all sorts of things.”
“That’s enterprising of him,” my mother said, handing me the platter of waffles. “Here, there are two left. You want them?”
I took one. “You can have the other, thanks. And yes, he’s savvy. Business is going up and with the fears about the Dragonni, he’s offering protection magic classes and talisman making classes. People are flocking to them in droves. Regardless of how approachable the dragons think they’re being, there’s a sizable section of the population who are afraid of them.”
“With good reason,” Kipa said. “That’s smart of Llew. I got to like him when we were helping out his friends. How are they doing, by the way?”
“Rain and Marigold? They’re all right. It will take awhile before they fully rebound from that mess, but they’re doing better and so are the kids.” I finished my breakfast. “I should do the dishes before I head out—”
“Nonsense,” Phasmoria said, jumping up. “I’ll take care of them. I thought I’d stay around for a couple of days, if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind,” I said, but I knew that—as casual as she sounded—she wasn’t hanging around to chat. She was worried about me, and she wasn’t going to leave me alone till she knew I was all right. And for once, I appreciated the support.
Chapter Seven
Vixen owned several properties, and currently they were all being rented except for their sprawling house on the outskirts of Redmond. The house wasn’t a cookie-cutter McMansion, but rather a renovated ranch house like you might find in the Old Bridle Trails neighborhood.
I parked in the curving driveway and headed up the sidewalk. The lawn was covered with snow, but come spring, it would be a riot of colors. Another tidbit that few people knew about Vixen—they were an avid gardener and spent many an evening out in the yard, tenderly transplanting flowers and bulbs with an almost Zen-like focus.
As I rang the bell, Camilla—Vixen’s new housekeeper—opened the door. She was dressed in a maid’s uniform, and her long blond hair was caught up in a chignon, pinned behind a white cap. She was human, that much I could tell, and about thirty years old. She took my name and quietly led me through the maze of rooms and hallways to a back parlor.
The house was five thousand square feet and picture-perfect. The gourmet kitchen was swathed in muted tones of gray and quartz. The high ceilings were painted white, and the light fixtures were all crystal and chrome. Everything was refined and elegant, totally unlike what you would expect from such a flamboyant personality. But I knew one thing about Vixen that very few others—save for Apollo—did. Vixen needed a space in which to decompress and they valued their privacy. Vixen’s home was sacrosanct against uninvited drop-ins.
The house was built in a U-shape, with two wings, and a courtyard between them. The parlor overlooked the courtyard, with a gas fireplace that sizzled and popped, and the room was decorated in a deep blue, with knickknacks made of mother-of-pearl that shimmered as the flames reflected against them.