Chapter 17
Feathers All in a Ruffle
“Are you insane?” Ryder demands, voicing my own thoughts out loud.
“I didn’t believe it myself,” Russell exclaims in a rush. “But it’s right there, in her magic. It must be a recessive gene somewhere in her lineage. Pixie magic is predominant, of course. You all saw the dust yourselves. But there’s shifter, and possibly high fae, mixed in as well.”
High fae makes sense—he’s seeing Rowan’s mage magic. But shifter?
“Pixie magic only passes to children with full-pixie parents,” Ryder argues. “There’s no way for a pixie to have a shifter in her family tree.”
“That’s why I was so baffled when I discovered it,” Russell says.
Ansel has remained quiet, but he slowly turns to peer at Rowan. “Kit, did you say Rowan changed without his wand this morning?”
“He did.” My brain works at an alarming pace. “Russell, what does shifter magic look like in its raw, extracted form?”
Glad to finally be included, Russell says, “It’s almost impossible to extract. Thick as heck, shifter magic. Won’t siphon worth a darn.”
Ansel and I meet each other’s eyes. If I’m not mistaken, he’s running down the same bunny trail I am.
“If you can’t extract it, how did you recognize it in Kit’s magic then?” Ryder demands.
“I said it’s hard, not impossible. Though I’ve only ever seen it done once.
My colleague managed to thin a wolf shifter’s magic a few years ago—not a great idea, let me tell you.
The guy had side effects for months. Anyway.
He got maybe a quarter of an amulet out of him, and we were able to experiment with it a bit.
It does this weird thing—when you put a drop of it on a slide, it crystallizes like a snowflake. Kit’s dust was mimicking that.”
“You said you saw signs of high fae magic in there as well?” Ansel demands.
“Looked like it. Hard to tell. Her dust was just a little more fluid than powdery. Could have been the shifter magic, you know?”
“Rowan’s mom is a Neilfellow, right?” Ansel asks Ryder and me, repeatedly snapping his fingers as he thinks. “But has anyone ever met his dad?”
The room falls silent.
“What’s with the owl?” Russell finally asks, realizing we keep looking at Rowan.
Ignoring him, I ask Ansel, “A mage can have a shifter parent instead of a human one, right?” I ask. “That happens?”
“Yeah.” He scowls. “Most of the time, they’ll inherit shifter magic, but it’s not unusual for them to be born without any magic at all. Rarely will they be able to wield both. But if they can, they would shift for the first time when they’re a child—and Rowan is most certainly not a child.”
Rowan flaps his wings, extremely flustered now. I can only imagine how frustrating this is for him, especially when he can’t join the conversation.
“Little guy there is a shifter?” Russell asks.
Deciding Russell isn’t much of a threat, Ansel lowers his wand. “I think he might be.”
“What does he have to do with Kit?”
“They’re bonded.”
“That’s not possible.” Russell laughs like it’s a joke…and then his face goes slack when he puts all the puzzle pieces together. “Wait.”
“Give him a minute,” Ansel says wryly. “He’ll get there eventually.”
“How?” Russell demands.
“I accidentally merged their magic when I was working a metamorphosis reversal.”
“So, you’re saying Kit’s not a shifter…she’s just bonded to a shifter?”
“Correct.”
“If Rowan is a shifter, why couldn’t he change back while he was an owl before?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” Ansel replies.
I look at Rowan. “Can you change back now?”
My owl-mate peers at me, looking annoyed—which I’m going to take as a no.
“Maybe you just don’t know how,” I say to him.
He flaps his wings, not liking to be told he’s not skilled at everything under the sun.
“It’s not criticism,” I argue. “How are you supposed to know how to do something you’ve never learned to do?”
He screeches.
“Don’t get your feathers all ruffled,” I snap. “I’m just saying.”
“This is weird,” Russell says to Ansel. “What kind of girl is attracted to a tiny dude? Kinda freaky, am I right?”
“Shut up, Russell,” Ansel growls. “What are you still doing here?”
He shrugs. “I don’t have anywhere better to be, and you guys are just hanging out.”
“Leave before I call the sheriff.”
“Calm down; no law enforcement is needed. I’m not going to ask Kit for more magic.” The mage turns to me, grinning in the smarmiest way imaginable. “Unless you want to get rid of some, and then I’d be happy to help you out.”
“Feed him to the pigs,” I say.
“Fine!” He walks toward the door. “I can tell when I’m not wanted. I’m going. You’re welcome, by the way. Glad I could help you out completely and totally for free, and with no gratitude bestowed upon me whatsoever. We’re even, right? No hard feelings?”
“Sure,” I say, “but only if I never see you again.”
“Your loss, summer bunny. You’re gonna miss me. I won’t hold it against you if you end up giving me a call. Do you want my card again, just in case?”
“No.”
“Suit yourself. You know where my lab is if you need me.” He has the audacity to wink, and then he’s out the door.
Finally.
“Seriously, why do you know that man?” I ask Ansel.
“I made bad choices in my twenties.”
“No kidding,” Ryder laughs.
Getting back on track, I say, “Seven years ago, when all this started, Rowan was trying to turn himself into a gryphon. Ryder confirmed that the feather was a gryphon feather. Did Rowan’s shifter magic interfere during the metamorphosis?
Is that why he turned into an owl instead? Is he an owl shifter?”
“That feather was actually from a gryphon?” Ansel asks, startled. “That cheap one he bought online? He said it was an owl.”
“I think he assumed it was an owl feather when he turned into…” I gesture toward Rowan and lamely finish, “An owl.”
“It was a gryphon,” Ryder says firmly. “If it had been an owl, we would have been looking for an owl. Marshall and I spent months trying to find a connection between Rowan and gryphons.”
Ansel runs his hands through his hair, disheveling the soft black strands.
“Rowan was working with a high level of magic. Level five metamorphoses were only possible in theory until he achieved it, and now we must assume there was shifter magic in the mix, which complicates it further. I have no idea what happened. Why would his shifter side lie dormant for twenty-some years?”
“Could it have been repressed?” Ryder asks, his voice off.
Ansel scratches his chin, slowly nodding. “I mean, that’s the most logical conclusion. But what kind of monster works that magic on a child? The spell is known to be incredibly painful.”
A cold chill travels down my spine. “Maybe someone who doesn’t want shifter magic associated with their prestigious high fae last name?”
Ryder groans, hating it as much as I do.
“You think Rowan’s aunt and uncle repressed it?” Ansel asks grimly. “I suppose it does seem possible.”
I glance at Rowan, wishing he could talk. What is he going through right now, all alone in his head?
“Say he was repressed,” Ryder says. “Do you think the spell is wearing off? Is that why he was able to change into an owl without his wand this morning?”
“I suspect the first metamorphosis started breaking it down, but the wall was still in place, preventing him from changing back. Our reversal might have obliterated it altogether. In fact, it must have, considering it was unhindered enough to grab onto Kit’s magic and form a mate bond.”
“Is there any way you can check? “I ask.
“You need someone who’s skilled with both high fae and repression magic. I’m afraid I’m neither.”
The shop door opens, and Rosalie calls a greeting to Ansel from the front room.
He glances at the clock. “We have to open soon. Let’s meet as soon as Rowan’s aunt returns with his amulet. Once he can communicate with us, we’ll figure out how to return him to normal.”
“I need to get back to the tea shop anyway,” I say reluctantly.
“I’ll walk with you,” Ryder volunteers.
“You can go out through the back if you want.” Ansel gestures to the door that leads to the small garden behind the rock shop.
Outside, steady rain falls onto the patio pavers.
“You should probably ride in my tote bag so your feathers don’t get all wet,” I say to Rowan. Then I set the bag on a table near the door and open it.
He flies over and walks into the bag, looking miserable.
“We’ll see you tonight, Ansel,” I say, my heart hurting for Rowan.
The sorcerer grunts as we leave. As an afterthought, he says, “Take an umbrella. You can bring it back later.”
Ryder grabs one from the stand, and then we step outside. We’re quiet as we walk through the garden and into the park, listening to the sound of water pelting the umbrella, staying mostly dry except when a breeze blows the rain sideways.
Ryder fights with the tea shop gate for several seconds before the latch finally opens.
“Thanks.” The moment I step inside the garden, I come to an abrupt stop.
Ryder runs into me, not expecting me to freeze in the path. “What’s the matter?”
“Those houses weren’t here on Tuesday.” I frantically gesture to the two new gnome homes that sit adorable and horrifying in the wet garden foliage. “Why are they here? They’re supposed to be moving to the cottage!”
“Those two little things? That’s not a big deal. Your dad will take care of them,” Ryder says. “It’ll be all right.”
My heart races as I kneel in front of the houses to get a better look. They’re tucked behind a cluster of daisies, partially hidden, but easy enough to spot if you’re looking for them.
“Why are they suddenly so intrigued with the tea garden?” I whisper, feeling like I’m quickly reaching the end of my rapidly fraying rope.
Rowan screeches from inside my bag, reminding me he’s still in there.
“Oh, sorry.” I stand, making sure I’m not squishing him.
The second we open the back door, Nadine rushes into the hall, leaving the tea shop counter temporarily unattended. In a frantic whisper, she says, “You haven’t answered your phone. I’ve tried to call a dozen times.”
Cold dread travels down my spine.“I accidentally left it at home. What’s the matter?”
A man appears in the doorway. He’s high fae, gorgeous as all their kind are, with long, light brown hair that he’s gathered in a low, sleek ponytail and a lean, aristocratic build. He wears a tan business suit with a folded pocket square in the breast pocket of his jacket.
“Are you Miss Merriweather?” he asks, his voice far too cool for my liking.
“Yes?” I squeak.
“My name is Elias Delflorna, and I’m a representative from the Fae Preservation Society. I need to speak with you.”