They sat in front of the most overgrown house he’d ever seen in his entire life, but it was in a good neighborhood. One that was rapidly being bought up.
The lot they stared at had a historical status due to some famous architect designing the home as a test piece in the twenties. Despite the lawn’s status, Dray was certain the house itself was great.
Rick, who’d trailed along with them, slid out of the car, wearing a fashionably oversized pair of sunglasses. He sashayed his way from the car and toward the house, tiptoeing over weeds and cracks in the sidewalk.
The yard? It needed work.
They got to the door, and the key slid in like butter, Kirk in front of them as he wrestled the door open with a polite chirp of a creak. “Can’t really tell no one, but Bosco did his dragon mojo on the place. A coat of paint and this thing will last another hundred years. The yard is shit just to keep property taxes low for us. But you’ll have to update it.”
Dray’s stomach knotted a bit. Dragons were loath to part with any of their treasures, especially one as unique as the house they stood in. “Are you certain Bosco isn’t going to mind selling this to us?”
“You know how Bosco is. He’s a dragon’s dragon. This treasure isn’t his anymore, and he knows it. Says it’s going to help people.” Kirk shrugged and walked them through, pointing out the outdated kitchen, the aging décor, and staircase banister that desperately needed work. “Good bones, as I said.”
They ascended the steps, and Rick positioned himself at the window, staring out with a squint. “What’s that?”
Tripp and Dray migrated to a small window at the north end of the room and spotted a mossy little stone-shingled house.
Kirk shrugged. “When it was built, it was maids’ quarters, but nowadays, it’d be called a mother-in-law unit.”
“Dear gods, do not let my father figure out that thing is there for the love of all things that go bump in the night!” Dray panicked a little, glancing around. “Burn it down. No… Cut a hole in the roof… Uh… We can hide—”
Rick stared at it, hands on hips. “Let’s go look at it.”
They gave the restroom a cursory peek, ogling the big bathtub upstairs before migrating down and through the kitchen, the mudroom with an odd chute. Kirk tapped the chute with his shoulder. “This used to be the coal chute but just use it as the laundry chute. We’ll check out the basement later.”
They navigated down the back steps, the porch a little terrace of brick and cement, moss-covered stones leading away to the little cottage hidden in overgrown vines and saplings. Kirk pulled an errant one from the door and opened the shack up and grumbled. A few empty bottles, a mattress, and the lingering stink of weed hung in the air. “Kids have been using this as a shag shack. Great.”
Rick glanced around, going from the small living room, the side bedroom, bathroom, and kitchenette with a slow nod. He flicked a light switch, lighting up the place before toeing away a condom wrapper before running some water in the kitchen and nodding once. A relatively new air fryer sat on the counter, and he opened it with a sniff. “Fairly recently, too.”
Kirk sighed. “I’ll tell Bosco. We’ll have to change the locks.”
“So how much did you say the place was, again?” Dray glanced around as Kirk said a number. Tripp was already on his phone, toying with local home estimates and cost of repairs, eyes milling numbers.
“Bosco has papers drawn up saying he’ll finance it at three and a half because the current rates are shit. He just wants the 20 percent down. The bank the lawyer picked will handle all the payments and stuff, so it’s like any other mortgage.” Kirk waved a hand, and Tripp stared up, wide-eyed.
“That’s like…half what the house is worth, even if I consider all the repairs.” Tripp huffed. “Why?”
“Lawyer will explain. The house is in a conservatorship. It’s historical. Once a year, you have to technically allow the place to be toured, but nobody ever visits. That will be explained to you. There’re home inspection reports clearing the place of asbestos and lead pipes. Bosco knew even way back then that asbestos was bad news. Anyone mining the stuff got sick and died fast.” Kirk stuck his hands in his pockets and glanced around before toeing the worn carpet in the little house. “It’s a fair deal for what it is. The only rule for sale is that it must be sold back to a dragon when you decide to sell or when you pass. Terms and all that.”
“Sounds like an amazing deal.”
Dray stared at the unit around them with a twisted face full of anxiety. “This place, though.”
“I have an idea.” Rick pulled a measuring tape from who-knew-where and measured the angles of a window. “Lease is up soon. Rent me the back house. Now, your papa can’t move in.”
Tripp glanced over, brow furrowed. “He bad news?”
“He’s… Ugh. Father and I don’t get along. He’s too…” Dray waved a hand about.
“Bright, happy, free-spirited, feckless? Judgmental? You know, omega father stuff. Not really a bad guy but never grew up but enjoys the power of being a parent.” Rick filled in the details to Tripp so Dray didn’t have to.
“Ah.” Tripp cleared his throat nervously.
“Yeah, so, he wouldn’t dare share a home with me, but he’d see this thing as an open invitation. If he asks, we’re renting, andthat home is being rented out separately.” Dray nodded sharply and Tripp shrugged. He’d let Dray have whatever his heart desired.
“So, how about it?” Rick rocked on his heels. “I’ll throw in some babysitting duties for a rent discount.”
Rick really knew how to sweeten a deal. Their mortgage would be affordable, about what rent would be for a two-bedroom apartment. Dray couldn’t pay the 20 percent, but he could contribute. That didn’t seem to bother Tripp in the least, though.
