Page 88 of Magical Melee

Karvey’s wings fluttered slightly as he stood. “Maeve, you’re at the center of something much larger than yourself. The road ahead will be difficult, but you’re not alone.”

For once, his words didn’t sound like empty platitudes. I nodded, feeling a curious mix of apprehension and determination.

“Thanks, Karvey,” I said. “And Twobble, too.”

Twobble beamed. “You’re welcome! Now, who’s up for snacks?”

Karvey shook his head. “No, but I appreciate the offer.”

“Well, more for me,” Twobble said, scurrying off to the kitchen.

I leaned back, watching as Frank continued his low growl, his eyes never leaving Karvey. “Looks like Frank’s going to take a bit longer to warm up to you. Have you two not met?”

It seemed highly unlikely.

“Oh, no. We’ve definitely had an encounter or two.” Karvey gave a small smile. “He’s a good protector. That’s a quality to be admired.”

I couldn’t argue with that. As strange as my life had become, at least I wasn’t facing it alone. Whether it was a grumpy bulldog, a hyperactive goblin, or a wise gargoyle, I had a team—an unconventional, mismatched team, but a team, nonetheless.

And somehow, that made the mayhem a little easier to bear.

I walked over to the bookshelves and ran my fingers along the leathery spines, hoping one of them would speak to me. When I’d about given up, heat wandered up my fingertips as I landed on a deep mahogany tome, larger than any dictionary I’d seen.

“Ah, good idea.” Twobble’s toothy grin emerged. “Get caught up on all the magical folk.”

Twobble ignited flames in the fireplace with a theatrical snap of his tiny fingers. “Classic Goblin flair.”

The fire crackled softly, casting a warm, flickering light across the quaint living room.

“You’re going to have to show me how to do that,” I said, warming up to the idea.

He chuckled and sat perched on the couch's armrest, swinging his legs like a kid who’d had too much sugar.

And he probably did since I had no idea what he found to eat in the kitchen.

Karvey had apparently decided the interior of my cottage was now part of his patrol route. He lounged in the armchair with his stone-gray wings folded neatly behind him.

Frank lay sprawled out on the rug in front of the fire, his usual watchful self, occasionally snorting as if to voice his disdain for the night’s lineup of unusual houseguests.

I sipped my tea, trying to let the warmth seep into my bones and calm my thoughts. After everything that had happened today—the showdown at the tea shop, the revelations about vampires and warlocks, and now gargoyles and goblins—I was more than ready for some quiet.

The peace, however, didn’t last long.

Frank suddenly lifted his head, ears twitching. His eyes locked onto the window, and he stood. His stocky frame tensed as his usual lazy demeanor vanished. His snorts were replaced by a low, rumbling growl that quickened my pulse.

“Frank?” I set my cup down, my heart picking up pace. “What is it, buddy?”

Twobble froze mid-swing. His eyes snapped to Frank. “Oh no. He’s doing the thing.”

Karvey leaned forward with glowing yellow eyes. “Point,” he said quietly.

“What’s ‘point’?” I asked, glancing between them.

Frank moved to the window with a rigid body as he stared into the dark forest. His growl deepened. It was low and guttural, shaking my bones. I’d never heard a sound like it from the bulldog, even earlier today.

Twobble and Karvey exchanged a look. The silent communication made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

“Twobble,” I said, my voice laced with a mix of trepidation and fear. “What’s going on?”