When is the Last Time You Visited a Vet?
When I let myself into the house, I find a damp, disgruntled owl preening himself on his living room perch. Relief hits me hard…which makes me a bit testy.
“I was worried about you,” I say without so much as a hello. “Why would you take off like that?”
Chester runs up to greet me, his entire body wagging with his plumed tail. I scoop him up and then frown, realizing he’s nearly as wet as Rowan.
The owl peers at me. “Since when do I have to check in with you before I go somewhere?”
“Since…since it started raining. And you said your feathers aren’t designed for wet weather. I was concerned.”
“You didn’t look concerned when you ordered me out of the room.”
“You know I can’t have an owl in the tea shop. The health department will shut me down!”
“I’m not an owl.”
And this time when he says it, he sounds angry—angry, frustrated, and so, so tired.
We have to figure out how to change him back. Somehow.
My anger ebbs, replaced with unease. “I need to ask you something, but I don’t want you to get mad.”
“What?” he snaps.
So much for that.
I brace myself. “Have you seen a vet since you changed?”
“A vet?”
“I just don’t want you keeling over of some owl illness before we can change you back into a man.” I cringe. “What if you come down with the bird flu?”
“We're not having this conversation.” He flies into the kitchen, apparently done with me.
Naturally, I follow him. “I’ve been charged with your well-being.”
“You can barely manage yourself, Kit, much less me. And besides, I’m older than you.”
“I know,” I say carefully. “But just for a little bit, let me take care of you.”
He lays his tufts flat. “No vet.”
“Fine.” I cross my arms, stubborn. “Unless you get sick.”
“And I will come and go as I please.”
“Yes, okay, but you have to tell me first.” When it looks like he’s going to argue, I add, “Not so I can keep track of you. Just so I don’t worry.”
He stares at me, acting like I said I was going to clip his wings.
Trying to make my voice gentle, I insist, “Rowan, that’s how families work.”
“We’re not family.”
“We’re living in the same house, sharing tea. We are family, at least for now. If you want to leave my family when you’re you again…okay. But for now, we need to be a team.”
He lifts his wings, thinking about it. Finally, he says, “As long as you don’t expect me to be all cozy with Ash.”
“No, but you have to be nice to Chester.”
“I’m always nice to your annoying dog.”
The way Chester watches him warily says otherwise.
“Sure,” I say.
“Are we done with this family meeting? Or do you have more ground rules to establish?”
“I can’t think of anything right now.”
“Good, because there’s something I want to talk to you about.”
He doesn’t sound as agitated as before, so I sit at the kitchen table, folding my hands in front of me. “Go ahead.”
“I’d like to visit my old professor.”
I sit up a little straighter. “The one who was teaching pixies how to harness their magic?”
“Yes.”
“That’s not a bad idea. Instead of doing all the research from scratch, we can consult him. He knows far more about it than we ever will.”
But just as soon as I feel a spark of hope and excitement, it dwindles. I have a question, but how do I ask it delicately?
“What’s the matter?” Rowan demands, peering at me. “One minute you’re suffocating me with sunshine, and the next you’re a rain cloud.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, okay? But do you think he’s still alive?”
“Why wouldn’t he be?” Rowan demands.
“You’ve been an owl since you were twenty-three. That was a long time ago.”
“Not that long.”
“All right…” Arguing isn’t going to help the friendship I’m trying to cultivate. “When should we go?”
“Friday.”
“Will I be back for the town meeting?”
“It only takes a few hours to drive there.”
“Then it’s a plan. But that’s one less day I have to learn about tea, so I’ll need your help again tomorrow, all right?”
“That’s fine. We’ll start now. I’m going to teach you how to use a gaiwan.”
“A what?”
“It’s a piece of tea-making equipment.”
“More tea tonight?” I ask, glancing reluctantly at the cabinet.
“You said it yourself—you’re running out of time.”
“Right.” With a heavy sigh, I scoot my chair back, cringing as the feet scrape against the hardwood, and fetch the items from the cabinets as Rowan instructs.
I study the GPS on my phone, trying to decide which route I want to take. I’m excited for a day trip, and even more excited about the coffee I’m going to buy once we’re on the road.
I like tea, but I need coffee. Yesterday, Rowan urged me to explore Chinese tea. It’s a massive category, and he made me use the gaiwan all day—which turns out to be a little Chinese teapot that gets ridiculously hot and is stupidly difficult to pour without making a mess.
Despite my lack of finesse when it comes to holding the gaiwan, in one afternoon, I tasted thirty-eight teas. Though Rowan swore they all had different flavor notes, to me, they blended together. In fact, the only teas I specifically remember are the ones I didn’t like.
We have so many more to get through, including the Taiwanese teas, Japanese greens, a few more Ceylon teas from Sri Lanka, African black teas, and a few varieties grown on Jeju Island in South Korea. But that’s going to have to wait until tomorrow.
The owl door makes its usual thunking noise as Rowan flies into the kitchen. He lands on his perch and tucks his wings close to his body. “Hudson is almost here with a buggy. Are you ready to leave?”
“Just about.” I stand, finishing the protein bar I’m eating because I’m feeling too lazy to make myself a real breakfast. “I just need to feed Chester.”
My dog dances around my feet as I grab his bowl, far more excited about his meal than I was mine.
As soon as I set the bowl back in the stand, the doorbell rings.
“I’ll meet you at the parking garage,” Rowan promises, and then he flies out the owl door again.
“Hi, Hudson,” I greet the large shifter when I answer the door. “Thank you for picking me up.”
“No problem. You need a ride to the parking garage?”
“That’s right.”
“Where are you headed?” he asks as we walk down the garden path toward the gate. “Anywhere fun?”
I still haven’t trimmed the flowers, so they brush against my legs, uncomfortably cold and wet with dew. It’s almost like they’re scolding me for not tending them, though that’s just a fanciful notion. Plants have emotions, but they’re not sentient like people.
“To Albany.” I almost tell him I’m going to the mage’s college, but then I realize he might ask me why.
Since I don’t have luggage this time, the large shifter has brought a cabriolet similar to Ash’s. His horse is a stout dappled gray with a dark mane—just about the prettiest animal I’ve ever seen.
“He’s beautiful,” I say to Hudson.
“That’s Ferdinand.” He looks at the horse with pride. “I raised him myself. He’s a good worker.”
“Like his owner, from what I’ve heard.”
Hudson looks over, smiling. “Who’s been telling rumors about me?”
“Ash. He said the town is fortunate to have you.”
He chuckles, taking note of the time, and gives the reins a gentle shake. “Word has it you’ve been spending a lot of time with our council treasurer.”
“Marshall warned me gossip travels fast in Moss Hollow.”
Hudson wears a friendly expression. “I imagine it’s like any other small town. How are you settling in?”
I catch a glimpse of Rowan flying between the trees ahead of us. “Everyone has been very welcoming, and my aunt’s house is cozy.” I twist my hands in my lap, willing myself to smile. “But I never imagined I’d move so far from my family.”
He glances over, offering me a soft, knowing smile. “Homesick?”
I nod, feeling comfortable admitting it to the shifter. As a rule, they’re highly family oriented. “But my parents promised they’d visit me soon, so I’ll be all right.”
“Are you coming to tonight’s meeting?”
“I am.”
I’m equal parts excited and nervous. It’s not easy being the new face in town, but I’m looking forward to meeting more of my neighbors. The sooner I get to know people, the sooner Moss Hollow will feel like home.
Hudson and I talk about the town for the rest of the ride. I learn his parents live here, along with several aunts, uncles, and cousins. He has a big, close extended family, as many shifters do.
“You haven’t asked me what we are yet,” Hudson says with a chuckle when the four-story parking garage is in view.
It’s weird to see a big, modern structure out here in the country, not far from a two-hundred-year-old covered bridge—and it’s definitely odd to see vehicles parked in the lot surrounding it.
I feel like I’ve been living in a time warp for the last five days.
“I know you’re a shifter, and I think I know what type. But it wouldn’t have been nice to ask.”
“I don’t mind. Out of curiosity, what do you think I am?”
“Canine, I believe.”
“I shift into a Newfoundland,” he confirms, and then he smiles. “My youngest sister is a Corgi.”
That makes me pause. “You can be different breeds?”
“We’re canine shifters, but the magic allows us to change into any dog we like. As children, we usually play with a lot of shapes until we find the one that suits us. Just like many other shifters cycle through colors.”
“I didn’t know that,” I admit.
“Did you grow up around many shifters?”
“A lot—mostly wolves, though. But my mom’s friend shifts into a bear. She lives in a cabin near Olympic National Forest and then spends winters at Lake Havasu.”
“Bears often winter in warm places—cold weather makes them sluggish.” Hudson turns into the parking lot and pulls the horse to a stop. “Here we are.”
“Thank you for the ride,” I say. “How do I pay you?”
He produces a handheld payment device that’s about the size of a phone.
“That’s handy.” I tap my card and then add my email for the receipt. “We’re not allowed to have cars, but at least we have cell phone towers.”
Hudson smiles. “Give me a call when you’re on your way back to town, and I’ll make sure someone is here to pick you up.”
“Sounds good.” I hop down from the padded seat. “Thanks for the ride.”
He and Ferdinand head back toward town, and I walk into the parking garage, showing my ticket to the guard at the gate.
“Thank you, Miss Merriweather,” he says. “Go on in.”
I walk through the turnstile, trying to remember where I parked. The space is lit with bright fluorescent lights, and it smells faintly of rubber. The place is huge, but that makes sense. Not only does it house all the tourists’ vehicles, but everyone who lives in town must keep theirs here, too.
As I walk down an aisle on the second level, I spot Rowan. He flies over the tops of cars and lands on a luggage rack.
“How did you get in here?” I ask.
“The upper level is open to the roof,” he says. “Why do you look lost?”
“I’m not lost—I know where I am.” I frown, standing on my tiptoes to survey the space. “I’m just not sure where my car is.”
“What does it look like?”
“It’s a dark blue sedan with Washington plates. I call it Blueberry.”
“Of course you do.” He leaps into the air. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
I keep walking, mostly because he told me not to, and I know the car must be somewhere up ahead anyway. Less than a minute later, he returns.
“Third floor, toward the back.”
Skipping the elevator since I’ve already walked this far, I go up the ramp and down the aisle marked Red Maple, to my waiting car.
“You’re kind of handy,” I tell Rowan, who’s perched on the roll cage of a small off-road truck. “Want me to set you on the seat, or can you fly in on your own?”
“I can do it,” he says, reminding me of a stubborn toddler.
“Suit yourself.” I open the door. “Go ahead.”
He swoops inside and perches atop the passenger seat headrest.
“Don’t puncture the upholstery,” I warn him.
“I can’t make any promises. If you drive like a mad woman, I’ll have to hold on for dear life.”
“I’m a good driver.” I slide into my seat.
“Bad drivers say that all the time.”
“How would you know?”
“Laverna was a bad driver.”
“Laverna had her license?”
“Yes, but she shouldn’t have.”
I laugh. “Well, relax. I really am a good driver.” I put the car in reverse. “But I’m terrible with directions. How do I get out of here?”