Magical Midlife Madness by Breene K.F

Author:Breene, K.F.
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-02-15T16:00:00+00:00

Seventeen

As early afternoon set in, I looked across the well-organized attic, with its dressers, trunks, and boxes. All the random silver spikes that had littered the floor in my youth were gone, the floor bare and swept. The medieval arsenal was still around, though. The silver-tipped spears, crossbows, mace, and war hammer had been hung on the wall in neat rows, easy for grabbing. They even had names stenciled above them. “Jake,” the battle axe, was in great shape, but “Ron,” the bludgeon, had seen some trauma in the past based on the marks scarring its wood.

Mr. Tom had done this, I knew. No one else would skip labeling an item in favor of naming it like a friend. The guy was well and truly cracked.

This morning I’d woken up to him looming over me again, but this time his expression had seemed particularly anxious.

“How’d you sleep, miss?” he’d asked, leaning forward to peer into my eyes.

I’d tried to wave him away, disoriented from waking up, and he’d jerked back with a screech, clapping his hands over his face as if I’d attempted to gouge out his eyes.

Delicate orbs intact, he’d then commenced chattering about the evening, how excellent my running must’ve been because of how tired I’d been upon returning home. How I’d drowsed through a late supper…

Scrunching my nose, I walked across the attic to the dresser, something that looked like a wooden tool chest.

Truth be told, the second half of running was mostly a blur. I remembered walking past the hotel and looking in, but after that everything was a big black hole until dinner. I’d obviously walked home in some kind of an exhausted daze, but it was hard to forget dinner.

It had been some sort of soup with way too many herbs and spices. It had tasted almost medicinal. But it had also cleared away some of the fatigue, and Mr. Tom had been staring at me like he really wanted me to finish it all, so I’d sucked it down. I definitely needed to start cooking for myself.

The small drawer at the top of the dresser contained a collection of pins. Long and thin, short and fat—some were polished to a high shine, and some looked like they had lived in the ground for years. None of them had a loop at the top for thread, so they couldn’t be sewing needles, though I had no idea what they might be used for. Darts? Voodoo pins?

“Weird,” I said, opening the next drawer. “Ah. Here they are.”

The silver garden spikes looked exactly like I remembered. None of them were remotely tarnished. In fact, they reflected more light than should have been possible from the bare bulb above my head and the small round window at the end of the room.

I scratched one, feeling the softness of the metal. Then frowned. They certainly seemed like silver, though why someone would have purchased silver garden spikes, I had no idea. The expense must have been ludicrous. And while Mr.

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