Bo’s nose twitched. “I smell old magic and cat judgment.”
Mimi materialized from behind a potted fern and flicked her tail irritably. “The judgment is warranted, mutt. Wipe your paws.” She glanced at me and the two vampires. “That includes you three.”
I vaguely considered a situation where Pearl and Mimi became friends and decided Amberford would not survive such a scenario.
“Go right on ahead,” Mrs. Chen called out from the kitchen. “Everyone’s already here.”
The sitting room was warm and cluttered. A well-worn Persian rug covered most of the floor. Mismatched armchairs were clustered around a fireplace. Plants hung from the ceiling and crowded the windowsills, some of which I was fairly sure weren’t legal in most states. More shelves lined with jars of dried herbs and suspiciously labeled ingredients crowded the walls, while stacks of leather-bound books that looked like they might bite were wedged between potted plants. A velvet armchair that was clearly Mimi’s throne squatted by a window.
I took all this in at a glance before focusing on the occupants crowding the space with a multitude of supernatural scents.
A cluster of small figures occupied a loveseat near one of the windows. Brownies, Irealized from the supernatural lessons Victoria and Samuel had been giving me, their diminutive forms barely visible above the armrest. It was my first time seeing them.
They were bickering in high-pitched voices about something involving a missing sock and accusations of “unauthorized reorganization.”
“The Hendersons from 2A,” Ellie whispered. “They’ve been rearranging everyone’s belongings for years apparently. I thought I was losing my mind when our kitchen stuff kept changing location.”
That explained a lot about my mysteriously migrating coffee mugs. I suddenly felt guilty for blaming Ellie for our domestic chaos all these years.
Virgil nodded politely at a couple of elderly vampires in vintage flapper dresses.
“The Lopez sisters from 5C,” he offered quietly. “They got turned in the 1920s.” He paused. “If they ever invite you to one of their “blood tea” socials, make up an excuse not to attend.”
Ellie paled. Bo gulped.
“Let me guess?” I hazarded. “They use real blood?”
“They use weed. Also, Mildred will critique your neck veins and Edna will inflict her porcelain dolls on you.” Virgil shuddered. “Apparently, they move on their own.”
Bo’s ears flattened. Yeah, that was going to give me nightmares too.
“How do you even know this stuff?” Ellie breathed, her eyes shining with the kind of admiration that promised future humping.
“The regulars at Bean Me Up talk a lot,” Virgil grunted, his ears reddening.
I caught sight of a gaunt figure lurking near a bookshelf. It was Mr. Kowalski from 3B. His skin carried a grayish pallor I’d previously attributed to poor hallway lighting and his scent was disturbingly familiar.
“Ghoul,” Virgil confirmed.
A fae couple who looked like they’d wandered out of a Victorian fairy illustration perched delicately on a two-seater next to the ghoul.
“That’s Thornton and Sage Willow, from 4B,” Ellie said. “I bumped into them in the elevator the other day. They’re obsessed with their rooftop herb garden and are almost certainly responsible for “the incident” involving the pixies that no one will discuss. Apparently, they pay their rent in gold coins that Mrs. Chen has to take to a specialty exchange.”
Bo and I traded a look. It seemed a lot had happened in the two weeks we had been away from this place.
A faint sulfurous smell drew my attention to a shadowy corner. Something shifted in the darkness. I caught a glimpse of horns and glowing eyes before the figure retreated farther into the gloom.
I almost swallowed my tongue when Mrs. Chen appeared soundlessly at my shoulder.
“That’s Keith,” the witch said. “He lives in the basement. Handles pest control.”
Ellie blinked owlishly. “Pest control?”
“You don’t want to know what kind of pests try to nest in buildings with this much ambient magic. Let’s just say Keith earns his keep.” The witch clapped her hands. “Everyone, take your seats. We have a full agenda tonight.”
The room immediately fell silent.
Daria Tilcott, the chair of the Amberford Alliance, would have been impressed.
