Chapter 22
Lots of Bushes
Apparently, we’re too slow because Ash is already with Ansel when we finally find him on the walkway outside the hotel. They stand in the streetlamp’s light, casting shadows behind them.
Neither one looks happy.
“It’s not a big deal,” Ansel says to Ash, exasperated. “They’ll forget about it by tomorrow.”
“It is a big deal. You cannot perform blatant magic in front of the humans.” Ash drops his voice, but Rowan and I are close enough to hear him. He turns to acknowledge us when we join them. “I apologize, but Ansel and I are in the middle of—”
“Ash was just going,” Ansel interrupts him. “What do you need?”
Ash huffs, but before he can get started, I quickly say, “We’re ready to sever the bond.” I gulp. “If you still think you can do it.”
Ansel cocks his head slightly, looking entirely too eager to experiment on us. “Now?”
I feel Rowan’s eyes. When I look at him, he appears conflicted. Like maybe he’s changed his mind.
“If that’s all right,” I waffle. “I mean, it’s late, and we’ll understand if you—”
“It’s fine,” Ansel says.
Ash must find our conversation more interesting than the one he and Ansel were having when we arrived because he turns to me. “You’ve found a way to reverse the mate bond?”
“Ansel thinks he has.”
Deep down, I hope it doesn’t work. Then Rowan and I can stay connected, happily accepting our fate.
The councilman studies me briefly before he turns to Rowan. “I hate to bring this up, as I obviously would like nothing more than to break you two apart, but you do realize Mom will probably withdraw her approval the moment she discovers you’re no longer connected?”
“I’m aware,” he says stiffly. “But I can’t say that I care much about her approval anymore.”
“Ansel mentioned the suspected repression.” His voice is grim. “Have you spoken with her since you shifted?”
“Only briefly.”
“You’ve been staying with Marshall?”
Rowan nods. “It’s a temporary solution.”
“We need to finish the tea shop apartment,” I say.
Or skip this wild experiment, get married, and live together in mate-bond bliss. That feels like a potential option as well.
I keep that thought to myself, though. We need to do this.
Impatient to move things along, Ansel says, “Are we going to chat all night?”
“No, let’s go.” I’m already walking.
Ash ends up following us, apparently not having anything better to do.
Ansel lets us in through a gate that leads to the pitch-black side yard.
As soon as we’re inside, the sorcerer casts a series of magelights.
The glowing orbs float through the air, alighting on branches and fenceposts, washing the unkempt garden in soft, warm light so we can see.
Ash makes a disgusted noise, greatly offended by the overgrown landscaping.
“Not a word,” Ansel warns him.
“Moss Hollow has standards to uphold—”
“Tourists aren’t allowed back here, so I keep my own standards. Get over it, or you won’t be allowed back here either.”
Ash grunts, gesturing for Ansel to lead the way.
We enter the sorcerer’s workshop directly through the back door.
My palms start sweating the moment I step inside, and I begin to second-guess myself.
“Will this be painful, do you think?” I ask Ansel.
“I already checked for volatile reactions with the sample.” Ansel pulls open a drawer in the workbench, retrieving a dust pendant. Magic shifts inside it. Though black and somewhat menacing, it’s quite lovely.
“What exactly does shadow pixie magic do?” I ask, intrigued despite myself.
“And how did Russell get his hands on it?” Rowan asks.
On closer inspection, I realize the pendant is maybe an eighth of the way filled. “How much dust did you use while experimenting with the sample? Do we have enough?”
“Not much. Russell didn’t give me a lot to work with.”
“So a fraction of a pendant of shadow pixie dust is equal to a full pendant of mine?”
Russell agreed to give me thirty thousand dollars for one pendant. That means a full pendant of shadow pixie dust would come to over two hundred thousand dollars.
“That’s what Russell wanted for it,” Ansel says, distracted. “I don’t know what its black-market value is.”
“How do we want to go about this?” Rowan asks.
“I think we’ll keep it simple. Just draw from the pendant as you would from a regular magic cache. Kit’s magic should recoil, breaking the mate bond.”
“But then Rowan will have shadow pixie magic in his system,” I object.
“He won’t be connected to that pixie,” Ansel explains. “Just a finite amount of dust. By tomorrow, I imagine it will be out of his system completely.”
“Let’s return to Kit’s question,” Rowan says. “What does shadow pixie magic do?”
“Skipped your spectral fae classes in college, did you?” Ansel says, so condescending it’s almost amusing.
Rowan gives him a wry look. “They weren’t required at Mablemyer unless you were going into spectral studies.”
“Ah,” the sorcerer says, obviously believing that proves his school is superior.
“Is it seasonal?” Ash asks.
“There are no seasonal spectral fae,” Ansel says. “There are two main types: dusk and death. Shadow pixies are dusk fae. Like their diurnal pixie counterparts, their gifts lie in emotional manipulation.”
“What’s their emotion?” I ask, though I already suspect I don’t want to know.
“Fear.”
“Oh good,” I say heavily, dreading this more than I already was.
Ansel nods, though he doesn’t look particularly concerned.
“It’s going to be uncomfortable. Not only do shadow pixies create the illusion of terror, but they conjure…
” He pauses like he’s trying to find a way to describe it.
“I don’t want to call them hallucinations, because from what I’ve read, it doesn’t sound like you actually see them.
I suppose you could say the visions are the nightmare equivalent of a daydream.
You know it’s not real, but it’s alive in your mind. ”
“And I thought winter magic was bad,” I say, trying to make a joke but just feeling a little ill. “How will all this affect Rowan?”
“I don’t really know. Best-case scenario, he’ll get a little jumpy. Worst, he’ll go mad with terror, and we’ll have to find a way to repair his brain.”
“Repair his brain? Are you serious?”
“I said worst-case,” Ansel says, like he thinks I’m overreacting. “I don’t foresee that happening.”
“But you just said you don’t know!” I exclaim.
“When I pulled your magic, I felt a little lighter, but I wasn’t sky-high on happiness. I assume it will be the same for Rowan when he draws from the shadow pixie magic.”
Realizing Rowan has been silent through much of the conversation, I turn to him. “We don’t have to do this. This feels like too big a risk to take.”
Rowan frowns, rubbing the back of his neck, deep in thought. Finally, he says, “I’ll be fine.”
“Are you saying that as a reasonable almost-sorcerer who’s considered all the consequences, or as a man who doesn’t want to admit the idea of fear-magic is absolutely terrifying?”
He cracks a smile. “The first. Besides, I’ll only draw as much as necessary.”
“How will you know how much is necessary? I mean, how will we be able to tell if it worked? I can feel the bond, but I’m not sure I’ll immediately notice its absence.”
“We’ll have to draw a sample of either your or Rowan’s magic and take a look at it,” Ansel says.
“You might as well take mine, since you’ll need it anyway,” I say. “Do you have an extra dust pendant?”
“Russell gave me several.”
“Of course he did.”
“We can hash this over forever, or we can get started,” Ansel says. “What will it be?”
“I know my opinion means little to you all, but it’s late,” Ash says. “I suggest you revisit this in the morning.”
I’m about to argue, worried I’ll lose my nerve if we wait, but the councilman is right. It’s nearly eleven now, and Ansel just put on an elaborate fireworks display. This might not be the best time to tamper with our magic.
“Okay,” I reluctantly agree. “You’re right. We should probably hold off.”
“Tomorrow, then?” Ansel asks, disappointed.
Judging from how late the sorcerer sleeps in, he’ll probably be awake for hours, anyway.
But now that we have more info, I would like to give Rowan time to think it over.
After all, I certainly wouldn’t want to interact with shadow pixie magic and will understand if he decides he doesn’t want to go through with it.
“We’ll meet you here after the shops close,” Rowan agrees, starting for the door.
Ash follows us out the back. When we reach the street, he says, “It’s late. Why don’t I take Kit home? There’s no reason for you to go all the way to the cottage and then back to Marshall’s.”
Rowan meets my eyes, not liking it. But it is the most practical solution, considering Ash lives next door to me.
“It’s late.” I shrug. “What do you think?”
Rowan presses his mouth into a thin line. After a moment, he sighs. “Yeah, okay.”
Ash begins walking toward the livery stable. “I’ll meet you in front of your shop, Kit.”
Once he’s gone, Rowan and I are alone—or as alone as you can be in Moss Hollow on a festival day. People are still in the street, slowly making their way back to their vacation rentals and the hotel. The crowds are thinning, but no one seems to be in any particular hurry.
“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow…” I say.
“How about I ride with you?”
“How will you get back to Marshall’s?”
He smiles to himself, looking into the dark night. “I thought I might fly.”
“Do you think you can change on your own?”
“If I can’t, I’ll have a long walk. It seems like good motivation.” He rolls his shoulders. “And I feel the magic pressing me to change. I don’t think it’s going to be that difficult.”
“Is that why your shoulders have been achy?”
“I believe so. It’s a good time to test it.”
“Except it’s late. What if you can’t change, and a wolf eats you on the way back to Marshall’s place?”
“The only wolves we have in Moss Hollow are shifters, and I don’t believe they’re much of a risk.”
I laugh, stopping myself from reaching for him by crossing my arms.