Page 112 of Magical Midlife Conclave

Tristan had stayed close by in his purple muumuu, occasionally brushing the skin of Nessa’s neck with his fingers for no apparent reason. The effect of his touch had sent shivers racing across her body. He hadn’t spoken to her, though. He hadn’t leaned closer to whisper threats or compliments. He hadn’t poked fun at her or set up ways for her to poke at him.

Now, lying in bed, she drummed her fingers against her stomach.

If she told him her feelings, she’d have to tell him about her past. She’d have to put herself out there and risk his rejecting her for it. Risk his thinking horribly of her and pushing her away.

Tears came to her eyes.

But hadn’t he shown that he could and would do worse than she could imagine? He was a monster, and so was Niamh. And Edgar. And Austin. Jessie, when the situation called for it. Even Sue had relented in his judgments of her, a landmark.

Would Tristan turn her away?

Was it worth the risk if maybe…he didn’t?

She bit her lip. And then something popped. A door, by the sound of it, creaking open.

The secret door leading into the interior hallway that allowed her to spy on him. It was the same beginning as their initial acquaintance, but for entirely different reasons.

Ivy House wanted her to make the first move.

Nessa wasn’t sure if she had the courage.

23

Tristan

He sat in the window seat and overlooked the quiet street in front of Ivy House. The moon shone down, highlighting Niamh on her front porch, rocking. He couldn’t tell what she was looking at, if anything, but she seemed in repose. Thinking, probably. She liked to sit and just think. Her mind must’ve been a busy place.

In another moment, Fred wandered out of Niamh’s front door. Her laptop was open, illuminating her face.

Ah. A late-night work session, equal parts Fred revealing what she’d learned in the cyberworld and Niamh thinking it through. While everyone else had been busy with the conclave and fighting, both mock battles and real, she’d been working on their mage problem. She’d been trying to figure out who was helping from within.

Hopefully, she’d soon have some leads. With the conclave winding down and deemed a success by everyone with a vested interest, their attention would quickly turn that way.

He felt her immediately, her luscious energy pulling at his focus. It called to him in a way nothing else, real or imagined, ever had. Lovely Natasha.

His heart quickened as he glanced at the door of his room, wondering if she was passing by on her way down to the kitchen—a midnight snack, perhaps.

But no, the suction of her presence pulled at him from a different location. His…closet?

Understanding dawned. The door into the secret passages. His breath hitched. Was she finally coming around, unable to resist his pull?

Even if she were just here to spy—usually something only Jessie could do, but Ivy House would probably make it happen for Nessa—it was a good sign. It meant she was thinking about him, up late in the dark and quiet house.

A click reverberated in the stillness of the room, followed by the soft swish of a door announcing a visitor. A presence entered, shrouded in glowing orbs of brilliant light, an ethereal being plucked right from his sweetest dreams.

Natasha stepped forward hesitantly, longing in her expression and worry in her eyes.

“Ivy House let me in,” she said quietly, barely disturbing the silence. “I…” She paused for a moment. “I wanted to speak with you.”

Drinking in her beauty, savoring this magnificent sight in case she was about to utter the devastating news of her rejection, he stood silently. He picked up the one chair in the room and placed it to face the window seat. He stood to the side, allowing her to choose her location.

Her energy danced all around her, so vibrant and bright. It had been since she’d helped the Elder. She’d somehow gained a little power, although she hadn’t mentioned it. She probably didn’t realize it herself.

She hesitantly stepped around the chair and sank down onto the window seat. He took the chair and waited patiently, not trusting himself to speak. Not knowing what might come out if he opened his mouth.

She folded her hands into her lap primly.

“I wanted to tell you something,” she said. She swallowed, gathering her nerve. “I worry it might make you think differently of me.”