6. Don’t Go Cheap on Alchemy Supplies
Don’t Go Cheap on Alchemy Supplies
After a long day in town, we arrive back at my house at just after five in the evening.
“I’ll help with your groceries.” Ash steps out of the cabriolet and ties the horse to the fence. He then goes around the back, where there’s a small shelf just large enough to carry a few bags.
I didn’t buy a lot, but it should be enough to tide me over until I make a real order.
Arms full, we walk into my aunt’s cottage garden together. I’m already content from an afternoon spent with my hands in the soil, planting the council-approved flowers, but my happiness grows as I breathe in the smell of sun-warmed flowers.
Ash pauses in the overgrown walkway. When I look back, I find him standing still, eyes closed, reluctant smile on the sharp bow of his lips.
“Sorry,” I say, wincing.
Slowly, he opens his eyes and meets my gaze in the golden evening light. “Your magic is potent.”
“We’re in my season,” I remind him. “My magic is strongest in the summer.”
He walks up the path to join me. “I’m almost afraid to see how powerful you’ll be mid-July.”
Amused, I shift my grip on the fabric shopping bags. “No one has ever called me powerful.”
“Maybe that’s because you weren’t growing in the right garden.”
An unexpected pang of homesickness makes me wince. Right garden or not, it was still home. And I miss it.
Ash notices—of course he notices. One minute he’s basking in the bliss that is my magic, and the next, it’s ripped away from him. He frowns like he’s not sure what to do with emotional me, giving me the same look he might bestow upon a three-legged stray dog.
“Sorry,” I say again, turning to the door to unlock it, wishing my emotions weren’t on display. “I’ve never been away from home before.” I push the door open. “You can come inside. Or if you’d rather, you can leave the bags on the front step, and I’ll grab them after I set these down.”
Chester waits for me, vibrating with glee, his fluffy body dancing as I walk into the living room. As always, the little pomsky cheers me up, chasing away my lingering sadness.
“Give me a minute,” I tell him.
He runs ahead of me, into the kitchen, looking back every few seconds to make sure I’m behind him. As soon as I set my bags on the counter, I scoop him up and hug him close, barely able to hold his squirming fluff-ball body.
Ash comes in behind me and sets his bags next to the others.
I return Chester to the floor and turn my attention to the man. “Thank you for today—and for lunch. I had a nice time.”
“You’re welcome. I must catch up on work tomorrow, but in the evening, we can go over your business paperwork.”
“I’ll make dinner if you want,” I find myself telling him, even though I can only make a few things, and I doubt he wants boxed macaroni and cheese.
But the small fact I can’t cook doesn’t seem important right now—it’s a problem for tomorrow.
“I’d like that,” he says.
My breath catches as I look up at him. The councilman studies me, smiling slightly. Dang it, I must be sparkling again.
I rip my eyes to the groceries. “I should put these away.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow.” He looks reluctant as he takes a few steps toward the living room, walking backward so he’s still facing me.
“What time do you get off work?” I ask.
“Five-thirty.” He takes another step and then pauses.
“Just come on over when you’re done.” I abandon the groceries, deciding I should walk him to the door like a polite pixie.
We end up hesitating in the entry. So tall, Ash looks down at me. He slides his hands into his front trouser pockets, smiling slightly.
This wasn’t a date—not a regular date nor a day-date, as Rowan suggested. So why does it feel like it was?
“I’m doing it again, aren’t I?” I whisper, wincing. I can feel the shimmering magic surrounding me, pulsing in time with the butterflies in my stomach.
“You are,” he confirms.
“I’m sorry.” I pull my eyes to the floor, mortified.
“Don’t be.” His voice is friendly, curious even. “I don’t think I’ve ever made a woman sparkle before.”
“Haven’t been around too many pixies?”
He chuckles. “No, I have.”
Oh good. Everyone is just better at controlling it than I am.
“Is it because you’re a summer?” he asks, curious. “Is your season naturally shimmery?”
“No, it’s not unique to summers. It’s just a pixie thing, but it’s worse when our magic is at full-strength.”
Like mine is now.
“And it happens when you’re…” Ash hesitates, a roguish smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “Attracted to someone?”
“Um, kind of.” Let me die. “You know that sensation you get when you’re around someone and you get butterflies in your stomach? It’s that, except…visible. Which is really fun and not at all embarrassing.”
Ash laughs softly. “School must have been difficult.”
“I went to a human school, and they can’t see it. Only fae.”
“Interesting.” He shifts forward. “Is it usually this persistent?”
With a wry smile, I lift my eyes. “Now you’re just fishing for compliments.”
“No, I have a theory—maybe your magic is responding to mine.” He leans down, meeting me at eye level. “My sparkles just aren’t visible.”
The air whooshes from my lungs, leaving me blinking at him.
He straightens and steps out the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Have a pleasant evening, Kathleen.”
“You too,” I manage, softly shutting the door. Then I rest my forehead against the wood, sure I’m probably glowing like a sparkler now.
“That was uncomfortable,” Rowan says from behind me. “If you’re determined to have a summer fling, I can direct you toward half a dozen local men who are all better choices than Ash.”
I yip, whirling around. “Where’d you come from?”
The owl sits on his living room perch. Like I’m dimwitted, he slowly says, “Well, I was outside, and now I am inside.”
“How much of that did you hear?”
“Enough that I’m feeling a little nauseous.”
“I didn’t misunderstand, did I? Ash was flirting with me?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“But I’m a pixie.”
“I don’t think that could escape his notice.”
“High fae rarely date pixies. The chance of eventually marrying and having magicless children is too high.”
Sure, the couple’s offspring might inherit the high fae’s magic, but it’s not a guarantee. And as my grandmother has drilled into my head since I was old enough to start looking at boys, pixie magic cannot be passed unless both parents are pixies.
“Any fae child may be born without magic, even with perfectly pedigreed high fae parents.” Rowan's condescending tone softens. “Look at Anna.”
“Anna…Ash’s sister?”
“Yes.”
“She doesn’t have magic?”
“No.”
“So…maybe Ash doesn’t care?”
Rowan laughs, but there’s no mirth behind it. “Believe me, he does. He’ll never get serious about a pixie.”
“But you said…”
“That you should be careful.”
I frown. “Marshall doesn’t seem to like him much either.”
“You met Marshall?”
“I met a lot of people today.”
I head back to the kitchen to put groceries away. He follows me, apparently not feeling as antisocial as he was this morning.
“You seem to know a lot about tea,” I say. “Can I ask you a few questions?”
Rowan settles on his kitchen perch. “You may.”
“First off, is Irish breakfast expensive?”
“Irish breakfast? No, it’s usually a budget-friendly blend of Assam. Why?”
“I need help putting my business things in order. Ash offered to assist me and said I could pay him with a free cup of it every day for a year. Do you think that’s a good deal?”
“A nice Irish breakfast is around fifteen to twenty cents for three grams, which is about what’s used in a standard cup. Multiply that by three hundred sixty-five days, assuming he’s going to show up on your days off, and on the high end, you’re looking at about seventy-five dollars.”
I turn to look at him, box of dry spaghetti in my hand.
“What?” he asks.
“Did you just do all that in your head?”
“It’s basic math.”
“Sure, but…”
“What?”
I shrug. “You’re an owl.”
“I’m a mage,” he says, exasperated.
“Seventy-five dollars feels cheap for legal advice,” I say. “Why do you think he’s being so nice?”
“Men lose their heads when pretty girls are interested in them.”
“Oh, Rowan,” I tease him, “you think I’m pretty?”
“As far as I can tell,” he says, looking mildly annoyed. “But what would I know? I’m a bird.”
I laugh. “I’m going to start water, and then I’ll make dinner. Would you like some tea?”
“Yes, please.”
To keep the conversation going, I ask, “What did you do today?”
“What I do every day—fly around the town, find a nice tree, and sit in it.”
“Every day?” I set the filled kettle on the stove.
“What else am I supposed to do?”
“I don’t know. What did you do before?”
“I studied magic and read books.”
“Did you attend a mages college?”
“For four years,” he confirms. “In Albany.”
“What brought you to Moss Hollow?”
“I grew up here.”
I almost ask if he still has family in the area, but I stop myself. If he did, he’d be living with them. They must be gone now. And I don’t want to bring up anything painful.
“Any idea how we’re going to turn you back?” I say instead. “I’m not saying my magic is ‘cute but worthless,’ but I’m not sure it’s going to be that helpful either.”
“I believe it can be done, but I haven’t figured out how to go about it yet. I’m afraid we’re going to have to poke around the library’s back room.”
“Back room?”
“The magic section. For obvious reasons, they must keep it hidden from humans.”
“Will they allow an owl inside?”
“Probably not. I don’t suppose you can cast a cloak?”
“I’m a pixie—I can’t cast anything.”
“That is the problem,” he grumbles.
“Do you still have your magic?” I ask. “Can you feel it?”
“Yes, but I can’t access it without hands.”
“Oh, that’s right. Mages have to use wands.”
“Why does that sound like an epiphany?”
“Don’t scoff, but I think you’re the first mage I’ve met. I don’t really know how your magic works. No offense, but my parents kept me away from your kind.” I peer into the tea cupboard, overwhelmed by the options. “What do you want?”
“A Ceylon would be fine,” Rowan answers, sounding a touch uncomfortable—knowing exactly why my parents would make that decision.