Page 105 of Death is My Ride or Die

“Say the word and he’ll be disposed of,” Death said with dark smile.

The vampire whimpered.

“There will benomurder in my library.” Ace put his hands on his hips. “These floors were just mopped. I’ll have Trixie escort Duncan out. Come along now; the three of us shall gather in my greenhouse for tea and a chat.”

My skin prickled as Death bent down to my ear. “I’ll pick you up later.” Then he stalked off the way we’d come.

“I said thethreeof us, did I not?” Ace exclaimed. “It is imperative that you both meet with me tonight.”

Ace’s mouth had flattened into a firm, grave line, those ominous words landing like lead in my stomach. He pivoted and hobbled down the aisle of books, pulling open a door and disappearing into another room. Death and I shared a perplexed look before following.

XXVIII

Past heavy glass doors reared a greenhouse straight out of a garden magazine. Hundreds of feet above us, forty massive beams came together across a glass-paneled ceiling to create an intricate design. Rays of light slanted through the glass, twinkling off the reflection of a magnificent pond with lily pads, water hyacinths, and foliage along the rim. A fountain with scattered bubblers added a tranquil backdrop.

“Beautiful,” I said breathlessly.

The heat and humidity in the air had increased. We followed Ace down a leafy path. I’d entered a fairy tale. Tropical plants and trees stretched up as far as I could see, rooted around potted herbs like peppermint, witch hazel, sage, and lavender. Strange flowers with petals in blues, purples, yellows, reds, and oranges gleamed and glistened as if painted with glitter.

I reached toward a plant to trace the moisture of a leaf when Death’s warm, gloved hand closed around my wrist.

“You can look, but don’t touch,” Ace said from ahead of us, as if he had eyes in the back of his head. Given the supernatural things I’d encountered, I wouldn’t have been surprised if he really did. “My garden is enchanted. Some of these plants are carnivores, I’m afraid.”

I gulped. “Like that piranha plant fromSuper Mario?”

“Precisely.” Ace performed a dramatic spin to disappear behind foliage. “Except my carnivorous plants expel a bubblegum fragrance when blooming!”

“Bubblegum,” I repeated. “That’s very specific.”

“It’s how they attract their prey,ma chérie,” Ace replied from somewhere far away. “What mortal doesn’t enjoy bubblegum?”

I edged away from the creepy plant and pressed my hands to my sides. Death faced off with a prickly plant that snapped at him like an animal and latched on to his cloak. With an irritated growl, he opened his jaws to hiss with a sound unlike any other creature—bared fangs and all. The plant released a high-pitch shriek and shrunk down to an itsy-bitsy trembling flower.

Death turned his glare on me, fangs retracting into smaller, human-sized teeth. “What?”

We approached a Victorian-style wrought iron gazebo with thorny vines and roses tangled in the framework like a fairy’s home. The inside had ancient iron furniture with cushions, and at the center of the space sat a small table for two. I sat across from Ace.

Death ducked underneath the archway of the gazebo, shrinking the space to the size of a dog crate. He kept his head bowed to avoid hitting the ceiling. “Cozy,” he mumbled sarcastically.

“I can’t believe I missed your garden from the road,” I said to Ace. “It’s huge.”

“You cannot see it because it is hidden. I concealed my greenhouse with magic to protect it,” Ace explained, pouring three mugs of tea. “There are thousands of different species of plants in here, most of which are endangered in other realms.”

Death dropped his colossal frame onto the couch beside my chair, shaking the floorboards beneath our feet. I was shocked the antique hadn’t pancaked beneath his weight, smashing him through the gazebo’s wooden floor. He adjusted himself as the poor little cushion flattened beneath his butt, then draped his long arms across the back of the couch and spread his legs.

“Let the record show,” Death said, “youwillinglylet Pyro Girl into your second most flammable room.”

Ignoring Death’s taunting, the warlock held out a cup of tea. By Death’s instantly disgusted expression, I expected him to strike it from the warlock’s hand.

“To relax your . . . other side,” Ace explained.

Death’s eyes narrowed then darted to mine as he reluctantly took the drink.Death holding a little teacup. I never thought I’d see the day.

I eyed my own tea skeptically. “This isn’t anything funky that will roar, right?”

Ace chuckled. “It will not roar,ma chérie. It is called cinnamon bird tea, a very mild sedative for anxiety, kind of like chamomile. Give it a whirl.”

“I do like cinnamon,” I said and sipped it. Milk, cinnamon, and some other flavorful spice soothed my dry throat. “Not bad.”

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