Keep Your Dragon on a Short Leash
Iblink at Ash, certain I misunderstood him. Even if he weren’t high fae, he’s a councilman and a lawyer. High fae don’t date pixies. And councilmen don’t date twenty-six-year-old disasters. He’s far out of my league.
Therefore, he can’t be flirting—but my poor brain doesn’t know how else to decipher what he said.
“We have a lot of people to meet,” he says as if he didn’t just strike me mute, opening the door. “Shall we get going?”
“Uh-huh.” I follow him into the sunshine.
“Don’t forget to lock up,” he reminds me.
“Right.”
I’m going to ignore what he said—pretend it didn’t even happen. That’s the only way to move forward.
And it’s easy enough to put behind me when a man stops his horse in the street to talk to us.
“Good morning, Emerson,” Ash says to the law official. “I was just about to take Kathleen around for introductions.”
The deputy dismounts and ties his gelding to a small metal structure. I thought it was an ornamental fence when I first surveyed the street, but it appears to be a hitching post.
A real one.
“Kathleen?” the policeman asks. “You must be Laverna’s niece. She talked about you.”
“She did?” I ask, unable to hide my surprise. “I mean, yes, I am. But everyone calls me Kit.”
Everyone except Ash, who seems determined to use my full name.
“Welcome to Moss Hollow, Kit,” he says warmly. “It’s a great town.”
In his forties, with gray at his temples, he’s handsome in a silver fox sort of way. But he’s not a fox—he’s a wolf shifter. I’d bet my tea shop on it.
“What was your name again?” I ask.
“I’m Emerson.” He pulls his wallet from his back pocket, removes a card, and then offers it to me. “If you ever need me, that’s my direct number. We don’t have a lot of crime, but tourists can be unpredictable.”
“Thank you.” I place the card in a zippered section of my purse, hoping I never have to use it.
“I’m looking forward to the reopening of your tea shop.” He nods to Ash, bidding him a good day, and then returns to his horse. “Glad to have you in town.”
I stare after him, quietly delighted. I’ve never seen a real, live mounted officer.
“His horse isn’t terrified of him?” I ask Ash when the man is out of earshot.
“You discerned he’s a shifter?” he asks curiously.
“A wolf, right?”
“Impressive.”
I shrug, pressing my lips together to hide my pleased smile. “I grew up around a lot of shifters, and I have a bit of a talent for identifying magic. My father made a game of it when I was young.”
“I see.” Then, answering my question, Ash says, “The local sheriff has the horses around his men from the time they’re foals. It desensitizes them.”
“Are all the local law enforcement officers wolves?”
“All but Malcolm. He’s an ogre. I expect you’ll meet him soon, though Emerson is usually stationed in town.”
“I’ve never spent any real time in a diverse fae community,” I admit. “I’m fascinated with it all—I feel like a human.”
“You’ll get used to it.”
I nod, watching a group of tourists ride by on their perfectly modern bikes. “If you say so.”
“The day is getting away from us. Let’s meet your neighbors in the square and then head to the nursery. There will be plenty of time to acquaint yourself with everyone else later.”
I agree, and the councilman leads me across the street to a single-story building with white plaster siding and wooden trim. It looks like a small, modern ski chalet.
The sign on the building reads, “Willow and Cedar.”
“This is Willow’s shop,” Ash says as we pause for one of the horse-drawn trolley carriages.
“Like the sign says.”
“Yes.” Ash almost smiles. “It’s a clothing and fine jewelry boutique. Willow started it with her husband, but now she runs it with her granddaughter, Meg.”
We arrive at the boutique just as someone steps out.
Ash catches the door, holding it open for the pretty young woman. “Hello, Meg. Excellent timing. I was just coming to introduce you to our new tea shop owner.”
Meg’s soft green eyes pass over me curiously. Her hair is light brown, and her skin is fair. She’s probably in her early twenties, with a tall, graceful build.
Another high fae.
“I’m Kit,” I say.
“Meg,” she responds warmly. “It’s nice to meet you. Will you be opening soon?”
“By the Firefly Festival.” I pause. “Probably.”
“Yes,” Ash says firmly. “By the festival.”
Meg laughs. “Whenever it is, I’ll be looking forward to it. Now, I’m afraid I need to run. We’ve been swamped this morning, and Grandmother says she needs chocolate.”
Her grandmother sounds like my mother’s kind of woman.
“Are you off to the bakery?” Ash asks.
“I am.”
“You should call ahead and have Ryder prepare your order. The line was all the way to the toy store when we passed.”
Meg groans and hurries a little faster, pulling her phone from her pocket.
Ash peeks into the shop and shakes his head when he sees the patrons. “We had best not disturb Willow right now. You can meet her later.”
“It’s a zoo in there,” I agree, moving away from the door as another couple goes inside.
“I’ll take you to Town Hall and introduce you to my family.” He directs me across the square, to the large brick building that’s catty-corner from my tea shop.
The landscape surrounding it is pristine, with several crabapples spreading their flowering canopy over beds of white irises and peonies.
“Does your entire family work at Town Hall?” I ask Ash.
“My immediate family, yes—except my mother. She’s retired.”
“Do you have any other family in town?”
“We’ve lived in the area so long, I have lots of family in the county, but only one other relative works on Main Street. Magdalene, my cousin, and her husband own the music store. You might meet them today.”
Just before we reach the steps, Ash’s cell phone rings. He frowns at the screen and then says, “I’m afraid I need to take this. Please excuse me.”
Ash walks away, greeting the caller. I wait for him in the shade of a crabapple, enjoying the buzz of dozens of bees as they congregate around the soft pink blooms. There are fewer people here, which is nice.
“Having a pleasant morning, Kit?” a voice says from inside the tree.
I yelp and stumble to the side. When I peer into the frothy pink branches, I find two golden eyes staring back at me.
“Rowan,” I breathe, a little irked. “You startled me.”
“I noticed,” the owl responds.
“Aren’t you supposed to sleep during the day?”
“Aren’t you supposed to be opening your tea shop, not going on a day-date with Moss Hollow’s most arrogant councilman?”
“Ash is introducing me to people,” I hiss, keeping my voice low, hoping no one sees me talking to the tree. Having an idea, I pull my phone from my purse and hold it to my ear. “We’re not on a day-date.”
Whatever that is.
He peers at me with his judgy owl eyes. “What are you doing?”
“With my phone, you mean? It’s so people won’t assume I’m crazy when they see me talking to myself.”
“You’re putting a lot of pressure on your mobile device.”
I glare up at him. “What do you want?”
“I don’t want anything. You came over to my tree.”
I can’t say anything else because Ash has finished his call and is walking back. I rip my eyes away from Rowan and paste a smile on my face.
“Sorry about that,” he says. “Shall we?”
Not wanting to draw Ash’s attention to my annoying owl, I quickly step away from the crabapple and follow Ash up the brick steps that lead to the entrance of the building. A notification board hangs on the wall just outside the door, and there’s an event calendar posted on it.
June looks like it’s going to be a busy month for Moss Hollow.
I frown at the schedule. “You have fireworks every Saturday? Isn’t that ridiculously expensive? How does the town afford it?”
“If we were using human-crafted fireworks, it would be, yes. But ours are created by the mages who own the rock and gem store—Ansel and his sister, Rosalie. She’s an alchemist, and he’s a sorcerer. They’re American, but they studied at a mages college in Scotland. We’re fortunate to have them.”
That makes me think of Rowan again. Did he attend a mages college in his youth? Did he have training before he attempted to create new magic?
I’ve never had formal magic education. Pixies don’t.
Since we can’t wield it like the fae and mages can—can’t bend it to our will no matter how we might try—there’s really no point.
It’s just there, inside of us. Or maybe it’s more accurate to say we are magic.
It’s woven into our beings like a ribbon.
That thought makes me frown. How am I supposed to help Rowan turn back into his mage self? He, of all people, should know it’s an impossible feat.
I follow Ash inside the building. A blonde-haired, high fae receptionist sits at the counter, on the phone. “I’m not sure I understand,” she says to the caller. “Did you say it was an alligator?”
She turns her eyes to Ash and grimaces.
Next to me, the councilman sighs.
“Yes, sir, of course,” she says patiently. “I would find it unsettling if an alligator wandered onto my porch as well. But are you sure it wasn’t a domestic lizard, like an iguana? Perhaps a pet that escaped someone’s house?” She pauses, listening. “No, I understand. It was an alligator.”
“Here?” I ask Ash quietly. “How is that possible?”
“I’ll contact the sheriff’s office,” she promises before Ash can answer me. “They’ll send someone to investigate it. Thank you for your call.”
The woman hangs up, flustered. “Ash, I swear, if Dorian can’t contain his dragons, we’re going to have to revoke his fae beast permit.”
“Who called in the complaint?” Ash asks.
She glances at the notes she’s taken on a yellow legal pad. “His name is Graham Green. He’s renting a house for the summer.”
“Human?”
“Naturally.”
“The alligator is a dragon?” I ask.
“They’re part of a breeding program,” she explains. “Icelandic leatherhides. They’re flightless, dark olive, and can reach about ten feet long. The poor creatures are almost extinct.”
“The poor creatures can be almost extinct somewhere else,” Ash says. “This is the third time this year one of them has escaped Dorian’s property. Someone is going to get eaten. I told Gideon it was a bad idea.”
She nods, looking particularly vexed, and then her attention moves back to me. Even though she looks like she could use chocolate as badly as Meg’s grandmother, she dons a pleasant expression. “You must be Kathleen. Ash said he was taking you around today.”
“I am. I go by Kit.”
“This is my sister, Annalora,” Ash says.
“Anna is fine,” she adds.
“Why are you at the front desk?” he asks. “Where’s Bailey?”
“She bumped into a man on the street who lost his wife a few weeks ago.” Anna frowns. “I had to send her home.”
“She’ll be all right,” Ash says, and then he pauses. “Are you?”
She shrugs, looking down at the pad of paper. “You know how it is when she’s upset.”
Ash turns to me, feeling the need to explain. “Bailey is a winter pixie.”
I nod, already having guessed as much. Winter pixies pick up threads of memories from those around them and share in the person’s emotions.
If the pixie is sad, they tend to draw sad memories. If they’re happy, happy memories.
A happy winter pixie is a joy to be around. You’ll remember your first kitten—how soft her fur was and the way she purred when she sat on your lap. You might remember what it felt like to fall in love, or the day your child was born.
But a sad pixie can be devastating, and like mood chameleons, they’ll adopt the strongest emotions around them. If they get too close to someone who’s grieving, they can infect an entire room with a bout of crippling sadness.
We call it the gift of remembrance, but I’ve always believed it’s more of a curse. No one wants to remember, in cinematic detail, their first breakup, nor the time they had to say goodbye to a beloved pet—or worse, a loved one.
The door opens behind us, and Ash and I turn. A man walks in, dressed in a gray suit. He’s high fae and as good-looking as Ash, but older, probably in his early forties. In fact, he looks a lot like Ash.
“Gideon,” Ash says sharply. “Anna just had a call about a rogue alligator.”
“Alligator?” The man looks baffled.
“Another one of Dorian’s dragons must have escaped,” Anna says.
The man groans. “Not again.”
“I told you it was a bad idea,” Ash says.
Gideon asks Anna, “Have you called Dorian yet?”
“I’m getting ready to.”
“You have to at least fine him this time,” Ash insists.
Looking around, Gideon frowns. “Where’s Bailey?”
“I had to send her home,” Anna says.
“Is she sick?”
“Sad.”
Gideon’s face softens. “Are you all right?”
“Fine now.”
“I’m sure she’ll be better tomorrow,” he assures Anna, and then he turns to me. “Please tell me you’re not human, because I don’t have time to work a memory charm today.”
“I’m a pixie.”
“Thank goodness.” Then he seems to rethink his relief. Cautiously, he asks, “What season?”
“Summer.”
His features soften. “Even better.”
“Gideon, this is Kathleen, Laverna’s niece,” Ash says. “Kathleen, this is my brother and our town’s mayor, Gideon.”
“Kit,” I correct, wondering if he’s doing it on purpose now.
“So, you’re our new tea shop owner.” The mayor looks pleased. “Glad you’re here. When do you think you’ll reopen?”
“By the Firefly Festival,” Ash says before I can open my mouth. “I’m going to help her get her business paperwork straightened out.”
“All good news. Welcome to Moss Hollow.” The mayor glances at his phone when it vibrates. “I have a video meeting in five minutes. Please excuse me.”
Anna watches her brother as he disappears into his office. Then with a sigh, she says, “I need to call Dorian, and then I have a building permit to take care of.”
The door opens again, and this time, it’s a family. The dad steps forward while the mom and two kids hang back. “Do you know where we can rent bikes?”
“The bike shop is just a few blocks to the north, on the other side of the post office,” Anna says warmly. “You’re almost there.”
“We’ll let you work,” Ash says to his sister, following the family out the door.
“It was nice to meet you, Kit,” Anna calls.
I glance at the crabapple tree when we step outside, looking for Rowan. But the flowers are too dense to see him from here.
Ash looks at his phone, checking the time. “It’s still a little early for lunch. How about we head to the garden nursery?”
“I’ll never turn down a trip to buy flowers.”
“Perhaps it won’t be as busy as the rest of the town,” he says, though he doesn’t sound hopeful.
I peer into the tree one last time as we pass under it, but the branch Rowan was perched upon is empty.
“What is it?” Ash asks, realizing I’ve become distracted.
“Nothing.” Pulling my eyes from the crabapple, I hurry to catch up with him.