Just One Duck?
Ansel’s stance softens. “An owl?”
“You know the one—the screech owl that loiters about the town.”
Slowly, Ansel lowers his wand and shifts to the side so I’m no longer staring at his back. He studies me, perplexed. “He was hanging around when we met the other day.”
I nod, uncomfortable. Rowan probably isn’t going to be happy about this, but I didn’t tell Ansel why we’re here.
“If your cousin managed to turn himself into a bird, why doesn’t he just change back?” he asks Ash.
Though Ash was happy to tell Ansel about Rowan’s tragic mishap, he seems reluctant to answer the question.
“Because he can’t use a wand, right?” I say, questioning myself. “No hands?”
Ansel’s eyes go wide, and he looks at Ash. His smile is highly amused and touched with wicked delight. “Your cousin is a mage?”
“Yes,” Ash answers tightly.
“Wait.” The sorcerer holds up his hand like he’s just thought of something.
“I’ve heard about this cousin. Is this the man who jilted the woman a week before their wedding and took off, never to be heard from again?
That cousin? The black sheep of your family?
The man who sullied the grand Neilfellow name? ”
Ash’s expression tightens. Though he can mock Rowan, it’s obvious he doesn’t like airing his family’s skeletons out in public. “Yes.”
“That was, what…six years ago? Not too long before Rosalie and I moved here, if I remember correctly.”
“Seven,” Ash answers, his voice monotone.
“Has he been in the town all this time?”
Ash rolls his neck, refusing to answer.
“Come inside.” Ansel steps into his workshop, waving us forward. “Excuse the mess.”
Mess is putting it lightly.
The place is a wreck. There are rocks stacked on every surface. Big rocks, little rocks, piles of tiny rocks. Like a woodworker’s shop, there’s also every tool imaginable—saws, drills, and a great many things I have no name for but assume must be specifically designed for mineral use.
There are also oddities layered on the tables, placed amongst the rocks.
Dozens of glass canning jars rest on the benches, some full of gelatinous, glowing substances.
A blooming lily chatters like a lovebird in a birdcage, and a concerning to-scale model of Moss Hollow sits smack-dab in the middle of the floor.
A fat, leather-bound spellbook rests on a stand under a window, open about halfway. The illustration shows a dragon-shaped firework blooming across a night sky.
Fascinated, and slightly disturbed, I ask, “Are you preparing for tonight’s fireworks?”
“I was.”
Right.
“Explain what your cousin plans to do with a na?ve summer pixie and a dust pendant,” Ansel says to Ash, and then he glances my way. “No offense.”
I cross my arms. “Somewhat taken.”
His eyes narrow on me. “Did you grow up in an isolated gnome’s tree? What pixie doesn’t know to run the other way when a mage says he’s got plans for her magic?”
“It’s not like that,” I argue, feeling the need to defend my new feathered friend. “He’s going to teach me how to wield it so I can change him back.”
Ansel studies me. “That’s impossible. I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“All right. But have you ever heard of a mage turning himself into an animal? Because he accomplished that.”
“Let’s say we siphon some of your magic into a dust pendant.” Ansel begins pacing, intrigued by the predicament. “Even if I could teach you how to use it, it still won’t be wieldable. Pixie magic isn’t stable in its raw form.”
“We?” I demand. “You?”
“Rowan’s professor suggested we temper it,” Ash says, ignoring me.
Ansel’s eyebrows shoot up. “Now that’s an intriguing idea. But with what? We couldn’t use your magic. We can’t use mine.”
“I was thinking Ryder might be able to assist us,” I say. Then, so it sounds like I know what I’m talking about and am qualified to participate in the conversation, I add, “Because he’s an elf.”
Ansel laughs like it’s a joke.
I set my hands on my hips. “What’s wrong with Ryder?”
“She’s serious?” Ansel asks Ash.
The councilman rolls his eyes, nodding.
Ansel stares at the wall as he plots. “I’ll think of something.”
“What about a dust pendant?” Ash asks.
“Yes, we’ll need one of those.”
“That’s what you’re for,” I say. “That’s why we’re here.”
“Me?” Ansel shakes his head, flipping through his spellbook. “I don’t run in those circles.” Something about the way he says it makes me think he almost tacked “anymore” onto the end.
“You’re telling me you don’t know anyone?” Ash asks, giving the mage a pointed look.
Ansel frowns. After several seconds, he wrinkles his nose. “All right, possibly. Let me make a few calls. But for now, get out—I have fireworks to plan.”
Ash nods toward the spellbook. “I saw that dragon before you turned the page. You know you can’t make them too impressive.”
“Freaking humans,” Ansel mutters. “Yes, fine. Boring Saturday fireworks, as always.”
“Thank you, Ansel.”
“What about a family of little ducklings, waddling across the sky?” the sorcerer asks before we leave. “Surely that won’t scare the humans?”
“We’re not worried about scaring them,” Ash says with a sigh.
“So, is that a yes?”
“That’s a no. Regular fireworks, please.”
“One duck?” Ansel holds up a finger. “Just one?”
“Ansel, I swear. No.” The councilman closes the door soundly, ending the conversation.
“Can he really make fireworks that look like ducks?” I ask.
Ash groans, directing me down the hall. “I have no doubt. It’s never him making them that’s the problem—it’s convincing him not to.”
We arrive at the cottage near dinner time. Before I hop out of the cabriolet, I ask Ash, “Do you want to stay for dinner? I don’t know what I’m making yet, but I’ll try not to light it on fire.”
Ash smiles…sort of. It might be more of a grimace. “I’m afraid I can’t tonight. My mother has scheduled a family dinner.”
Though I’m disappointed we’re parting for the evening, I’m a little relieved that I don’t have to put something together that will meet his fussy standards.
“I’ll see you…?” I draw it out, not wanting to be presumptuous.
“Tomorrow, if you’d like.”
“Yes, I would like that.”
Ash nods, leaning forward.
I close my eyes, almost sighing when his lips brush over mine.
“Bye,” I say, feeling especially sparkly.
He nods, waiting for me to go inside the gate before he coaxes the horse toward his house.
I sigh contentedly as soon as I’m inside, scooping Chester up when he greets me at the door.
“Where’s Rowan?” I ask the dog, disappointed that the mage doesn’t seem to be here. The house feels lonely without him. Trying to fill up the silence, I say in a baby voice, “Do you know, Ches? Where is Rowan? Where is our owl?”
“Please tell me you don’t expect the dog to answer you,” Rowan calls from the kitchen.
My mood brightening, I follow his voice and find him on the table, reading a paperback I left out this morning. He’s attempting to hold the pages open by standing on them.
“That looks awkward,” I say.
“Only when I have to turn the page.” He shifts off the book, letting it fall closed, and then flies to his perch.
“Do you like romance novels?” I ask, glancing at the book.
“Not particularly, but I’m not exactly drowning in options.”
“Do you want a cup of tea?”
He shrugs his wings, looking a bit melancholy.
“What’s the matter?”
“I’m a bird.”
“I mean besides that.”
“Did Ansel know where we could find a dust pendant?”
I’m not sure if he’s answering my question or changing the subject.
“He said he’d look into it.”
“Did he ask why you wanted one?”
Avoiding his eyes, I say, “Of course he did.”
“And what did you tell him?”
“I didn’t tell him anything.” Thankful for the distraction, I fill the kettle with water. “Ash, however, told him who you are and what you did.”
Rowan makes a hissing noise, not impressed.
“Don’t take it out on me—I wasn’t going to tell the sorcerer. But what difference does it make? You’re going to have to fess up eventually. You can’t show up in town one day and not expect questions.”
“Maybe I’ll leave town.”
I look up sharply, not liking that. “You will not.”
The tufts over his eyes raise, making him look curious. “Why?”
“Because…because this is your home.”
“This whole time, you’ve wanted nothing more than to get me out of your house. Why do you care where I go as long as I’m gone?”
“I don’t.” I stare at him, oddly hurt. “I suppose.”
No, I do. But I can’t put the feeling into words. It just seems wrong that I’m going to do all this, go to all this trouble, and then he’s going to abandon me.
“I can’t live here once I’m back to normal,” he points out. “I’m certainly not going to move back in with my aunt. You don’t expect Ash and me to become roommates, do you?”
“I mean…maybe you could rent a place?”
“With what money?”
“You don’t have anything saved up?”
“I had an account with my uncle. I imagine he closed it before he passed away.”
“So, you’re not just a bird, you’re a destitute bird?”
Rowan ruffles his feathers.
“All the more reason you should stay,” I say. “Where will you go if you leave?”
“I’ll get a job somewhere.”
“Doing what?”
He stares at me. “Mage things.”
“I imagine you’ll be a little rusty, though. Seeing as how you’ve been an owl for roughly seven years. Besides, you never graduated. You’re not even a real sorcerer yet.”
“I know what this is,” he says sharply. “You’ve gotten attached to me in this form. Well, stop it. I’m not going to be your pet forever. You can’t keep me once I’ve returned to a man.”
I study him, realizing I can’t imagine it. Rowan is a tiny owl. And picturing him as anything else seems absurd. “That’s a good point. Maybe I’ll just leave you this way.”
“Kit,” he says sharply.
I finally smile. “Let’s make a deal.”
“I don’t want to make another deal with you. We already have your family meetings and mutual respect.”
“I’ll donate magic so you can turn back into your regular self, and you’ll agree to help me with my tea shop until I’m allowed to sell it. Three years, you’ll work for me, and then…we’ll both leave Moss Hollow. Take it or leave it.”
“Where will I live?”
“We’ll clear out the apartment over the shop. What do you think?”
“What I think is I’m not comfortable with you ‘donating’ your magic,” he says sharply.
Ah, there it is—the real reason he’s upset. He wants to return to his normal self more than anything, but he’s not a horrible person, so this is bothering him.
“I want to help you.” I abandon the kettle and pull a dining chair in front of his perch so I can face him. “And I’m asking you to help me in return. This will benefit both of us. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m really not qualified to run a tea shop.”
“It’s no good.” He turns his head from side to side like he’s shaking it. “If we work that closely together, you’ll fall in love with me, and Ash will hate me more than he already does.”
I laugh, genuinely horrified at the idea. “No offense, but I think I’m safe. You’ll always be a bird to me.”
“I’ll help you,” he says, amused. “But on one condition.”
“You can certainly tell you and Ash are related.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he snaps.
“Never mind. What’s your condition?”
“If the siphoning process makes you sick, or uncomfortable, or uneasy, we’ll call the whole thing off.”
I study him, and then I stick out my hand. “Okay.”
He eyes me. “What am I supposed to do with that?”
“Just shake with your foot or something.”
He groans, a noise that sounds very much like a man and not an owl, and then clasps his tiny talons over two of my fingers.
“You are awfully cute as a bird,” I tease him. “Are you sure you want to change back?”
“I agreed to three years with you?”
I laugh. “Yes, and there’s no taking it back now.”