No Hands, No Wand #2
“Okay, well. We have to turn him back with a different type of magic.” I cross my arms, standing a little straighter.
“And we’re going to try to use mine. We went to see Rowan’s old professor today, and he said it might be possible, but we’ll have to siphon some of my magic into a dust pendant so that it can be tempered with another kind of magic and made stable enough to use. ”
“No,” Ash says. “Rowan isn’t experimenting on you or your magic.”
“It’s our only option,” I insist.
“It’s not your only option. We just have to find someone with wieldable magic who’s compatible and wants to help Rowan lose his feathers.”
“Compatible?” I ask, not understanding. “Aren’t all other types of magic compatible?”
“No,” Rowan says. “Leprechaun magic mixed with high fae is…volatile.”
“There’d be nothing of Rowan left but a few singed feathers.” Ash raises his brows. “But look at the bright side, Kit—you’d be free of your unwanted house guest.”
“Ash,” I say sharply, and then I press my lips together, thinking. “Okay, so for wieldable magic, that just leaves…elves. Right? Fae, mages, leprechauns, and elves—no one else has wieldable magic, do they?”
“Brownies, gnomes, and dwarves,” Rowan says. “But their magic is limited and linked to the earth. And then there are the spectral races, but they certainly wouldn’t be helpful.”
“Okay. Then we need an elf.”
Ash snorts like I said something funny. “You’re never going to find an elf.”
“Why do you two keep saying that when Ryder lives in Moss Hollow? He’s an elf, isn’t he?”
“The only one more likely to blow up Rowan than Rowan himself is Ryder,” Ash says. “If he’s your only option, then Rowan might as well accept his fate.”
I sigh. “Fine, then it’s back to me.”
“Even if you siphon your magic, you’d still have to temper it with elf magic,” Ash points out.
“You don’t even think Ryder can do that? How hard can it be?”
Rowan and Ash exchange a look.
When Ash looks back at me, his face goes solemn. “Listen, I’ve already beaten my head against this wall. There is no solution.”
“You’ve already looked into this?” I ask Ash, startled.
He clears his throat, shrugging. “I might have.”
Rowan scrunches his neck low to his shoulders, looking suspicious. “Seriously?”
Ash rolls his eyes, turning back to me, and I suddenly realize he’s still soaking wet. “Do you want a towel or something?”
“No. I should probably get going.”
The rain has let up, and the worst of the storm has passed.
“Do you think you’ll be all right alone with him?” Ash smirks in Rowan’s direction. “I wouldn’t want him to try something.”
Scoffing, Rowan flies into the other room, apparently done with the conversation.
“We’ll be fine,” I say wryly.
Now that we have a little privacy, Ash takes several steps forward. “Are you still angry with me?”
“I wasn’t angry—I was disappointed.”
“And now?”
“It helps knowing you tried to find a way to turn Rowan back.”
“I didn’t try that hard,” he says, almost smiling. “If I’m honest.”
“It’s a start.”
“Do you have plans for the weekend?” he asks. “Can I see you tomorrow?”
I bite back a smile, and then I nod. “Call me in the morning.”
He reaches for my hand, giving it a light squeeze. “Goodnight, Kit.”
“Night.”
He steps outside, giving me one last smile, and I close the door.
Once the house is locked up again, I turn toward the kitchen.
“Do you want tea?” I ask Rowan, finding him on his perch near the table.
“Always,” he says, sounding a little funny.
I look at him over my shoulder as I fill the kettle. “What is it?”
“You actually thought I was an old man? Do I sound old?”
I think about that. “No, I suppose not. But I didn’t know how much of that was the charm.”
“Honestly,” he mutters.
“What kind of tea do you want?”
“Whiskey.”
I snort. “How about Earl Grey? I heard from a respectable source it’s even accepted in tea snob circles.”
“Only some of them.”
“Your uncle is Ash’s father.”
“He was, yes. He passed away a while ago.”
“Oh.” I turn back, gesturing toward him. “After…”
“Yes.”
“Were you close?”
“We were—he and my aunt chose to raise me, after all. They treated me like one of their children. He was a father to me.”
“And you didn’t get to say goodbye?” I whisper.
“No. He’ll never know I didn’t take off.”
“Rowan…”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not.”
“All right, it’s not,” he admits. “But there’s nothing either of us can do about it.”
“How did you come to live with your aunt and uncle?”
“My mother was my uncle’s younger sister.”
“A Neilfellow.”
“Correct. She had a wild streak and took off when she was eighteen. When she came back, she had a two-year-old mage son. No one knew who my human father was, maybe not even my mom. My aunt and uncle took us in. But a few months later…”
“She left again.”
That makes the blow so much harder. His uncle must have thought Rowan abandoned the family like his sister did.
“Yes. Without me.” He sighs heavily. “Which was, quite honestly, the best thing she could do for me. I had a stable upbringing.”
“But Ash resented you?”
“He was embarrassed of me—said my mage blood was a stain on our family name. But I think he was just jealous. And I suppose I was jealous of him as well. Our whole lives have been nothing but a competition—we were always trying to outdo one another. It only got worse as we grew older. It came to a head when I started dating Keira.”
I settle at the table. “Tell me about her.”
“Her family moved to Moss Hollow when Ash and I were seniors in high school. Her parents bought the bed and breakfast off Main.”
“The one that’s for sale?” I ask.
“That’s it. Ash was immediately taken with her, and I followed soon after because that was our way.”
“And she was high fae?”
“Yes. Which was why Ash thought I didn’t deserve her.”
“But she chose you.”
“She did.”
The kettle whistles, and I begin to prep the tea. “Do you miss her?”
“I did at first,” he says, opening up like he never has before. “But after a few years, I realized something.”
I pour water into the cups. “What’s that?”
“I don’t know that I loved her the way she deserved to be loved. I think, for me, I just wanted to win.” He pauses. “I’m not proud of that. And sometimes I wonder if I didn’t do her a favor.”
I’m so startled by the confession, I let one of the mugs overflow onto the butcher block counter.
“Kit!” Rowan exclaims.
I jump, realizing what I’ve done.
“I did love Keira,” he clarifies. “But I’m not sure I was in love with her.”
We’re quiet for several seconds as I wipe up the mess I made. Working up a smile, I say, “Are you ready for that whiskey?”
He laughs softly. “I don’t know why I told you all that.”
“Because we’re family now, remember?”
“You only said that because you thought I was a senile old man on his deathbed.”
“Your age doesn’t change anything. Laverna made me your guardian. Until we turn you back, you’re stuck with me.”
“Do I make you uncomfortable now?”
“No, you’re still you. That was just a knee-jerk reaction caused by shock.” My timer goes off, and I remove the infusers from the cups. “Do you want milk and sugar? I learned that’s how some people like Earl Grey.”
“I can’t digest either, so I’ll pass.”
“I didn’t think about that. Will the flavoring in the tea bother you?”
“I don’t know. We’ll find out.”
“No, we won’t.” I dump his mug of tea in the sink before he can drink it. “I’ll make you something else.”
“I’m not comfortable with siphoning your magic,” he says, startling me with the change of subject.
I rinse the infuser and then rummage through the tea cabinet. “What about a jade oolong? From…China?”
“Taiwan,” he corrects.
“Whatever.”
“That’s fine.”
I spoon the dry leaves into the infuser. “You’re not a sinister mage who wants to drain me and sell my magic. We’ll only take as much as we need.”
“We have no idea how much that might be.”
“We’ll start small.”
“Ash is right though. If we can’t find an elf to stabilize your magic, all this will be for naught.”
“I’m going to ask Ryder.”
“Kit,” he says, frustrated. “I like Ryder—we grew up together. At one time, I considered him one of my closest friends. But he can’t help us.”
“The worst he could do is ruin a batch of my magic. We’ll just siphon more.”
“No, the worst he could do is destroy a dust pendant. It will be hard enough finding one. But two? Impossible.”
That does complicate things.
“Where are we going to look for one?” I ask.
“I don’t know. I didn’t run in those circles.”
As I wait for his tea to steep, I stir sugar into my mug. “What do you look like? The image I’ve conjured for you must be all wrong.”
“You mean the image of an old man?”
I smile, still a little disconcerted.
“I was good-looking,” he says flippantly.
“Of course you were—you’re a mage. If I’ve learned anything since coming to Moss Hollow, it’s that high fae blood makes people beautiful.”
“Why do you sound wistful?”
“Because I’m a pixie.”
“Which is fae.”
“But not high fae.” I take a sip of my tea. “What color is your hair?”
“Brown.”
“Brown is so vague. What shade? Light, dark, medium? Golden undertones? Red? Is it a cool shade?”
“Are we actually doing this?”
“Humor me. I’ve had a rough day.”
He sighs. “Medium, I suppose. When I was young, it was almost red, but it mellowed as I reached adulthood.”
“Did you wear it long?”