“Great party,” Josse said as he stirred milk into his coffee. “The Brillevert seemed even bubblier than usual.”
“Yes, great party. Strange how everyone turns up for those, but no one’s available to help clean up the mess in the morning.”
“Well, maybe if you didn’t insist on starting bright and early.” Adelphine had unleashed the full power of her re-enactment resentment at half past five, when she knew full well everyone was asleep.
Her flying brooms had made short work of the debris, a few flicks of her wand had shoved the furniture back into place, and the dishes were drying in the kitchen’s heavy-duty dishwashers.
A decluttering spell had encouraged the decorations to box themselves up until next year, and even the artificial tree had zipped itself into its storage bag. They used to get real ones, back in the day – until that first Christmas with Oakleaf, the resident wood elf, who took to his bed for three weeks over the callous murder of a defenceless conifer and subsequent frivolous display of its drying corpse.
As Adelphine joined Josse for their usual check-in over breakfast, only the lutins’ drinking thimbles remained to be washed, which would take her (or them) all of five minutes.
He knew better than to point this out. “I’m sure they’re all grateful for your efforts,” he ventured as he made a start on his croissant.
She snorted. “Well, that’s that for this year. Holiday season over, back to the real world. What are you going to do about that insurance claim?”
“They’re sending a leak detection expert round. But I don’t see how the leak could be coming from here.” Unlike the owner of the cabaret that backed up against the warehouse, Josse had put in new plumbing and kept his gutters clean. Any leaks they had next door was likely their responsibility, in his humble opinion.
“To the warehouse? They’re sending a lead detection expert to inspect the warehouse?”
“Yep. I guess their insurance needs to make sure they can’t charge someone else before they agree to cough up.”
“Well, can we get out of it? Can’t you just pay for the damage and be done with it?”
“I’d love to. It would be far better than letting outsiders in, but we’re not that rich. The loft refurbishment cleaned us out.” Josse had dreamt of upgrading the werewolf cages in the warehouse for years. He had budgeted prudently, but with post-COVID inflation and the soaring cost of materials, his careful plans had gone agley. As so oft they do.
The sleek new full-moon units were a hit with the regulars. They’d pay for themselves soon enough, but meanwhile…
“I told you so,” Adelphine replied. “I told you we shouldn’t break into the rainy day fund.”
“You did. And maybe you were right. But honestly, how is this helpful now?”
OK, she thought, holding back a sharp retort. Enough.
On a table in a far corner of the room, half a dozen unusually subdued lutins were cracking an egg into a tiny pitcher of Matin Clair.
“Oh, and it gets better,” he added after a brief pause. “They’ve set a date for the inspection. Monday 2 February at eight.”
“Ah. That’s the morning after a full moon. And the sun rises, what – at half past eight?”
“Quarter past.”
“Someone’s coming to inspect the plumbing of the full-moon units while the weres are inside?”
“Yup.”
No need to belabour the point, Adelphine decided, tucking into her muesli instead.
“Shouldn’t be a problem,” he said. “I’m sure we can reschedule, but we will have to let them in at some point.”
“Fine. We’ll just have to make sure everything looks normal. Meanwhile, what are you going to do about the street artist?”
“What street artist?”
“The one the vampires have backed up against the gate. I thought you knew.”
He set down his mug and ran.