Page 24 of Magical Midlife Rescue (Leveling Up #11)

FOURTEEN

Niamh

“Those crafty devils.” Fred bent over her computer in glee, sitting beside Niamh on Niamh’s porch. The extra chair was getting a lot more action since Fred came to town.

A layer of frost covered the yard, the sun having not been up long enough to burn it all away.

At the end of the street, mass preparations were underway at Ivy House.

Shifters loaded luggage and supplies into vans.

In an hour or so, they’d start loading people.

The clock had finally run out for Austin Steele.

Ready or not, it was time to start his campaign to win over the shifters.

For the first leg of their trip, they’d head across the country.

Kingsley had set up a meeting with the group of people who’d originally tried to unify the shifters.

None of them had had enough power and determination to make it happen.

Austin would attempt to win them over, and then, with their support, systematically hit other prominent packs.

Niamh’s luggage was already over there. Fred’s, too, as the Jane had proven invaluable.

Forget saying she wasn’t magical— she all but pulled a rabbit out of a hat with that computer of hers.

Niamh had made Jessie give her a raise, and a bonus besides.

Fred had found Sebastian and Nessa, after all, and Jessie had promised the moon to do that.

Now they had eyes on the mages. When the time was right—or when they had some time at all, rather—they could show up at will and force those meddlers home.

“Who?” Niamh asked her as she toyed with a rock. Every once in a while, a shifter wasn’t paying attention, and she was able to startle him with a rock to the head.

“Your mages. They don’t have the know-how to keep me out of their lives. Do you know what they did? Those little cave dwellers went off-grid.” Fred shook her head, grinning. The woman loved a challenge, and Niamh had handed her a basketful of them. “Smart buggers, they are.”

She also randomly affected an Irish accent.

“How can they go off-grid?” Niamh looked over at Fred’s computer.

Fred pulled her hands from the keys and leaned back as she laughed. “They ditched their setup. They even ditched their phones! Who ditches their phones? Like…what if they need to get delivery?”

As Niamh watched the proceedings, Tristan’s large form slipped through the hustle and bustle of the shifters on the grass. It was a testament to how stressed Austin Steele was that he was only using his shifters and not any of the gargoyles for travel prep. He was leaving nothing to chance.

Too bad Jessie’s crew would blow it all to hell the moment they showed up at the meetings.

There was no controlling them, or even understanding them.

Their chaos was a strong asset that Austin Steele didn’t yet appreciate.

He would, in time. The moment that chaos was unleashed on the mages, they all would—Niamh was sure of it.

Tristan held the handle of what looked like a horribly beat-up metal box.

“So, get this.” Fred leaned on the arm of her chair, and though there was mirth in her eyes, Niamh could see respect, too.

“I love these two! We gave them a scare the other week, right? Got into their system, put out that video—” She suddenly slammed her laptop shut and turned to Niamh.

“Do you know what occurred to me last night? Jessie was worried about bringing me on because I was a thief, right? Fine. But then she shrugs off you guys creating some circus-like corpses out of people you don’t even know and putting them on display.

Then framing your friends for them! Like…

really?” She tilted her head at Niamh accusingly.

“ Really? Stealing is an issue, but you’re cool with all that ? ”

Fred had a shocking tolerance for the types of things Tristan and Niamh got up to.

Even Jasper and Ulric had blanched at that setup with the enemy spies.

Niamh had really put her all into that one, as had Tristan.

Fred’s tolerance probably had to do with her still acclimating to magic in general.

She didn’t have the ability to reason any of this out, not yet.

Niamh was keeping her too busy. It would help her in the long run. Magic wasn’t a place for strict morals.

They hadn’t shown Jessie, though. Everyone had agreed it was best not to.

She would’ve felt guilty, even though those mages were not only in bed with Momar but had helped orchestrate the attack on Kingsley and had large body counts themselves.

It was best to stay vague. Jessie knew the sorts of things Niamh and most of her crew were capable of. They could just leave it at that.

But Fred? She’d been more concerned with how to break into various systems to post the video so everyone would be sure to see it.

Then to create bots to share it…or comment…

or some such thing, helping a ripple of fear and uncertainty spread throughout the mage community.

It had been sensational, the reactions. Very effective.

Better than anything Niamh could’ve hoped for.

Her plans had grown ten times larger in scope.

Now they were playing with fire—the only way to go!

“That’s why Jessie came around, like,” Niamh told her as Tristan stopped beside the porch. “She’s rational when ye explain things to her. What do ye got there?” she asked Tristan.

He held out the box—a 1970s cooler, on closer inspection.

It had a metal top with scuffs and scrapes and a yellowish stain.

The metal sides were dinged to all hell with black patches, as though someone had burned away the mustard-yellow paint.

The brand name, Coleman, had what looked like a key mark through it, and the cooler itself bore plenty of dirt smears.

“Mr. Tom destroyed all your coolers,” Tristan said.

“I know. I bought new ones.”

“I saw. But your new ones are clean and pleasant looking.” He set the cooler on the porch. “This one is not.”

Fred grinned. “That’s one ugly and incredibly groovy cooler. If she doesn’t want it, I definitely do.”

Tristan put down the picnic-basket–style metal handles, one on each side, and pulled off the lid. “I’ve got a few beers in there, but it’s mostly basajaun brew I got off Phil, and some honey-flavored moonshine I got off an Irishman at the pub in the next town. I tried some. It’s awful.”

“The Irish have moonshine?” Fred’s eyes lit up.

“ Poitín, ” Niamh said.

“Bless you,” Fred replied.

“No, that’s what it’s called…” Niamh shook her head. “Never mind.” To Tristan, she said, “What do ye want fer it?”

Tristan looked out over the street, subtly shaking his head. “Nothing. It all just kinda…fell into my lap. I commented on the cooler, and the lady who owned it traded me for it.”

“What she’d trade you?” Fred asked. “I hope it was something good.”

He glanced at her. “Orgasms.”

“Like…multiple?”

“Always.”

Fred made a huh expression. “They must’ve been good ones. I wouldn’t let that cooler go for any price.”

“As I said, always.”

His confidence knew no bounds. Then again, Niamh reckoned, it was probably earned. He had a reputation, and with gargoyles, who celebrated their time in the sheets, that must’ve been hard won.

“You went and filled it out of the graciousness of your heart, then?” she asked.

He rested an elbow on the banister. “The beer was left in my fridge. Phil traded the brew for the privilege of watching Mr. Tom’s face when he first saw you with that cooler. He’s now standing close to the house, waiting for you to walk over. And the moonshine…” He shrugged.

“You gave him multiple orgasms, too?” Fred surmised.

“No. I dodged a headbutt, knocked him out, and stole his stash. Seemed fitting for the lip he was giving me.”

“Ye must’ve been giving it back if he tried to headbutt ya.” Niamh reached down and put away her rock. Tristan was in the way.

“Oh, yeah, I definitely started it. This way, it’s his fault that I stole it. He reacted first. Fair and square.”

Fred opened her laptop again, shaking her head. “I don’t get the logic of this place. Don’t get me wrong, I like it, but I don’t get it.”

“Ye don’t want anything in return?” Niamh narrowed her eyes at Tristan.

He grinned. “Don’t mention I gave it to you.”

“Well, obviously. What do ye think I am, like? A snitch? Fell into yer lap, me arse. Since when are ye all hearts and flowers?”

“Since never. Take it or don’t. I got a few doilies if you want those instead. Whatever.”

But he couldn’t hide the true reason. It sparked and glowed in his eyes, sang in his grateful lean toward her and in his newly relaxed shoulders.

It had shown in how he’d brutally handled those mage spies.

They’d tracked down Nessa, ended the threat to her and Sebastian (for now), and could keep tabs on them.

He was thanking her for making this possible, and his relief was plain.

He cared a great deal for that gal pal of Sebastian’s.

Niamh was seeing a whole new side of this gargoyle-monster—a side he was applying to Jessie now, taking greater care of her and putting her ahead of himself.

It was like he was letting the door into his mushy interior open and showing everyone parts of himself he usually kept hidden.

Or maybe it had always been there, and she was just now seeing it with her true magic.

She felt like a kid again, watching the world of mages unfold before her eyes.

Making connections, coming up with plans, ideas, horrible pranks that would end in bloodshed.

What a time to be alive! Imagine wanting to retire from all of this.

The world was so much more complex now. More intricate.

More challenging. She could barely contain her newfound excitement.

“Hello?” Fred was leaning way over, her face only inches from Niamh’s. “What’s going on in there?”

“Would ye feck off? Janey Mack, do ye need to get so close? Yer weird might rub off.”

Tristan barked a laugh.

“Well?” Fred demanded. “You disappeared there for a minute. Do you want to know their new setup or what?”

“Our mages have gone off-grid,” Niamh told Tristan.

He became alert really quickly.

“Right.” Fred braced a hand on the top of her computer.

“So, we caught them. We tracked them. They tried to kick me out but couldn’t, which the Captain realized, even though she couldn’t actively find my presence.

That lady is smart, bro. If she’d had the right training, she could’ve been a helluva programmer, I’m tellin’ ya.

So, they move their setup to, like, a shack or something out in the woods.

They operate at weird times, but that doesn’t matter, because I’m tracking their keystrokes and sites and everything they’re doing.

I record all that. They save their files to an external hard drive, but again, that doesn’t matter.

I’ve got them on lock. I don’t think they know what’s actually possible.

Phones are left there. All work remains there.

When they leave, everything goes quiet. They aren’t doing work from anywhere else.

Not on those accounts, anyway. I’m combing the magical dark web—which I didn’t even know existed —for any sign that might be them, but so far, nothing. It’s like they…unplugged.”

Her obvious perplexity was hilarious. She clearly couldn’t imagine a world that wasn’t electronically dialed in. Niamh’s past, before electricity and gas ovens, would have floored her.

“They still show up to do their work,” Niamh said, unbothered. “We know their home base. All we need to do is show up, wait, and grab them.”

“Well, yeah.” Fred pounded on the keyboard. She did not type lightly. “Anyone good enough could, too. I’m running interference, but there’s only so much I can do without direct access. I created a spy hole, and someone else could use it when I’m not looking.”

Urgency came through the Ivy House link: Mr. Tom. Jessie must’ve been ready to go, and he was stressed out that everyone else wasn’t there and waiting.

Niamh pushed herself to her feet. “Don’t worry about them for now,” she said, and waited for Fred to close her laptop and stand.

“We know where their intel is. That’s enough.

Now we need more in-depth information concerning their enemies.

I want to know who’s pulling the strings.

They don’t seem directly connected to Momar.

Working for him, sure, but way down in the trenches.

Something doesn’t seem right about that.

Momar has a greater interest in Elliot Graves than that.

We’re missing a connection there. And then…

we need to peel back each layer of Momar’s setup.

We haven’t even scratched the surface, girl. It’s time to get to work.”

She could hear the excitement in her own voice, matched by Fred’s sparkling eyes.

“Oh!” Niamh snapped as they made their way to Ivy House, she carrying her “new” cooler. “We’ll be needing a list of possible allies. I’ll assemble that. It’s time we stopped standing solo with a bunch of animals.”

Tristan tensed, and Niamh stifled a laugh.

“Is that fresh dirt on this cooler?” She looked down at it, bumping it off Tristan’s leg as she did so.

He veered a little farther away. “Yeah. Fresh dings, too. It looked too nice when I acquired it. I figured I’d rough it up a little for you.”

Now Niamh did laugh. She knew how to push Tristan’s one button (she was still looking for more), and Tristan knew how to get at Mr. Tom. What a circus.

A damn fine time to get alive.

“What in the holy terror is that?” Mr. Tom yelled when he saw Niamh step onto the grass. He straightened indignantly. “That’s going too far! You’ll disgrace the whole convocation. Have you no respect?—”

His words were drowned out by Phil bending over, guffawing.