“Ah, sure, ye might be. But I had a look at the other options, and they aren’t good enough. They aren’t fast or strong enough. She needs ye, and we need her, so ye’d best cop on so we don’t all find ourselves in an early grave.”
He grunted and fell into a chair near the back of the room. I knew he wanted to know more about the hacker, but he would clearly let Niamh, Austin, and me handle the interview. For my portion, I really only had one question. Austin would handle the rest. He was the good judge of character, not me.
“I was about to give up,” Tristan admitted, getting comfortable and opening the diary. He took out a pen.
“You were going to give— What are you doing?” I asked.
He paused with pen to paper and looked up. “Writing your thoughts and hopes and dreams. Mr. Tom has made it perfectlyclear that it’s a diary. First, I’m going to pen your absolute love of Edgar’s flowers and how you long to put them in a window box…”
“What in the—” Niamh pushed up a little to get a clear look at him. “Ye really have gone around that bend.”
“When in Rome,” he murmured as I laughed at the absurdity of it all.
Austin descended the stairs but stopped at the bottom. I wondered why until Mr. Tom entered with an air of importance and a freshly pressed tuxedo.
“Ah, yes, fantastic,” he said as he noticed Tristan. “It’s good to seesomeonetakes his job seriously.” His withering glance at Niamh made clear whom he was talking about.
“See?” Tristan said to me, continuing to write.
Austin entered the room after Mr. Tom, walked around him, and then settled next to me on the couch. He wore a button-down shirt and nice jeans, professionally casual.
“Should I…” I looked down at my jeans and plain black T-shirt. “Should I put something else on, too?”
“Should ye, me arse,” Niamh said. “Ye’re grand. Here, Mr. Tom, get me a beer, would ya? I’m dyin’ of thirst.”
“I most certainly will not,” Mr. Tom told her. “You are about to do an interview. At leasttryto look the part.”
“I plan on it. Did ye not just hear me ask for a beer?”
He sniffed. “I only have the brand that Austin Steele favors, and he does not need to share. Now, miss, what can I get for you? Water, sweet tea, wine?”
“Just a water would be great, Mr. Tom, thanks. Are you, by chance, making anything for dinner?” I asked.
“Don’t be silly—of course I am. Roast beef, your favorite.” It wasn’t, but I still liked it plenty, so I didn’t say anything. “Austin Steele, how about that bottle of suds I spoke of a moment ago? That would be nice and relaxing after a hard day.”
“Great, Mr. Tom, thanks,” Austin responded as he put his arm around me and hugged me close.
“Fantastic. Tristan?”
“A beer sounds good, if the alpha can spare one.”
“I have plenty,” said Mr. Tom. “He won’t notice if one is missing.”
“Let two go missin’, then, ye oul goat,” Niamh groused.
“I’m fine to share,” Austin said.
“You might reconsider, sir.” Mr. Tom’s wings fluttered. “If she gets started, she’ll have them all drunk before you know it.”
A stranger walked onto the property, heading for the door. “If Edgar had his way, that person would be just about to die,” I murmured.
“If Edgar had his way,” Niamh said, “ye would’ve retired him by now, and we’d all have one less headache.”
A moment later, the doorbell echoed through the house. Mr. Tom headed that way, his wings fluttering accordingly.
“Oh, by the way, this person doesn’t know we’re magical,” Niamh said.
I paused, because it hadn’t occurred to me to ask. I’d been too worried about the stealing. “Wait,” I said, “how is that going to work?”
