Tragic Magic by Rebecca Royce

Author:Rebecca Royce [Royce, Rebecca]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781947672864
Publisher: Rebecca Royce
Published: 2019-06-09T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8

Melanie floated up to the attic. For years, Ava had seemed powerless, and it had really given Melanie an idea of how difficult things were for humans. They’d have needed a ladder to get up there. Of course, power was relative. The Enforcers could have just popped on up.

The attic was loaded with dust, and it took an illumination spell to light the place up. Her mother must never have come up here because it looked like it had been generations since anyone had cleaned the place. In fact, no one had come to clean the house since she’d been here. Edward ran things, but where was the staff? It used to take half a dozen people to run the Boothe estate.

She was going to have to ask Elliot.

In the meantime, she wandered through the attic, ducking to avoid hitting her head on some beams that were low, but otherwise seeing nothing but boxes that needed to be gone through. She sighed. There was lot more work left to do than she’d thought. With a flick of her wrist she sent them downstairs to the study. Elliot might not even know these were up here needing to be sorted.

Goosebumps broke out on her arms, and she rubbed them. Melanie swallowed before she turned around, slowly, to see what had made her heebie-jeebies stand on alert. Nothing was there. She sighed. There hadn’t been anything to see the whole time she was up here.

“Find anything?” She jumped before shrieking. It took her half a second to realize it was Elliot. He shook his head at her. “Sorry, didn’t mean to terrify you.”

“Yes you did or you would have made some noise.” She laughed. The high after being scared of something and then finding out it was nothing was like riding a human roller coaster. Up and down. Up and down. She’d only done it once, but it was the closest feeling she could relate this to.

He held up his hands. “Seriously, find anything?”

“No.” She stormed over to him. “I guess you’re right. There’s nothing up here I can see, Bomber.”

He groaned. “Are you going to call me that now?”

“Maybe. When I feel like it. Come on. I just transported a ton of boxes to the study. We have a lot more work to do.”

He ran a hand up her arm. “Or we could keep ourselves occupied in other, more enjoyable ways.”

The smile that crossed her face came with a surge of warmth from his words. “I love that idea. But those boxes aren’t going to sort themselves. Give me two hours of organizing and I’ll race you to the bedroom to spend the night in more… productive ways.”

He flared his nostrils. “I take it you’re never going to be able to relax if you don’t get to accomplish something productive?”

“Correct.” She shrugged. “What do the humans call it? I’m a type-A personality.”

He took her arm. “I’ve spent almost no time with humans. But they seem to like the Bomber shows. Two of them did okay on Broadway.

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