Rowan The Pre-owl Years
“Idon’t remember including you in this project,” Rowan says. “You’re a supplier, not a participant.”
“You’re not going to be able to do this without a mage,” Ansel says.
“I’m a mage,” Rowan snaps. Then he jabs his wing toward our driver. “Besides, we don’t need a mage. We have…Ash.”
He makes it sound like his cousin is a consolation prize.
“Ash didn’t study magic,” Ansel argues. “He’s a lawyer. And if either of you were up to this task, you wouldn’t be a bird right now.”
“My brain wasn’t addled in the change. I still know all the theory. I just need someone to work the spell, and that someone is Kit.”
“Does Kit have a workshop?” Ansel smirks as he looks back at Rowan, knowing he has him.
Rowan stares at the sorcerer, miffed. After several drawn-out seconds, he says, “Fine. You may help.”
“Seat belt,” Ash reminds Ansel impatiently when the car’s warning system begins to ding.
“So gracious of you,” the sorcerer says to Rowan, looking forward and snapping the latch into place.
Rowan huffs like an annoyed old man, making me laugh under my breath. No wonder I thought he was eighty.
“What college did you attend?” Ansel asks Rowan, not ready to let the conversation go.
“Mablemyer Mages College.” Rowan preens like he knows it's impressive.
Ansel must know it as well because he huffs but has no other retort.
“You?” Rowan asks.
“Ballanholm College of Magic.” Judging from the way Ansel says it, and the annoyed look on Rowan’s owl face, that one must be impressive, too.
“Did your school implement a rank system?” Ansel asks.
“Obviously.”
“What did you graduate?”
Rowan’s silence is telling. When he finally answers, he says, “I was the head of my class, until…”
Ansel turns to look at the owl, frowning. “You didn’t graduate?”
“I was working on my final project when this happened.”
For a moment, pity crosses the sorcerer’s face. Then he smirks. “Well, I was second, but I actually graduated.”
Oh, for goodness’ sake.
I nudge Ansel’s seat. “Are we really doing this?”
The sorcerer angles around, his eyes bright. “I was just making small talk, Kit.”
“Sure.”
For the rest of the drive, the two mages politely bicker back and forth, trying to one-up the other.
Ash doesn’t join the conversation, nor does he look inclined to.
“I’m just saying,” Rowan says to Ansel, flying out the door behind the sorcerer when we reach the parking garage, “that if you haven’t ever attempted a level five metamorphosis, I don’t see how you could possibly—”
Ansel shuts the door before Rowan finishes the sentence.
Ash sighs, turning around to look at me. “Next time, you’re sitting up front.”
I smile. “Are you upset you didn’t go to a fae college so you could join the conversation?”
“I easily have them both beat—I had to pass the bar.”
I laugh as I open my door, stepping into the covered parking garage, dreading the rain. Thankfully, Ash called ahead, asking a groom to prepare his horse and cabriolet.
“Do you ever get tired of this fuss?” I ask him, staying a way back from Ansel and Rowan, enjoying this moment we have together. “Wouldn’t it be nice to drive right to your house and park in a warm attached garage?”
“I don’t mind it.”
He walks close to me. His hand occasionally flirts with mine, though he doesn’t take it like I would like. Something tells me that public displays of affection are never going to be something Ash enjoys, and that’s all right—even if our companions are ten yards ahead of us.
“Even when it’s raining?” I ask.
“It’s a little inconvenient when the weather is poor.”
“And you have to take care of your horse,” I point out.
“That’s not a chore I mind.” Ash acknowledges the security guard as we reach the entrance, bidding him a good evening.
Ansel is already running for the cart that arrived to pick him up. Rowan perches on a signpost just under the eaves of the building, waiting for us.
A few minutes later, a groom arrives with Ash’s horse and cabriolet. He’s raised the cover, preparing the small carriage for a soggy ride home.
I open my purse for Rowan. “Want a ride? Just until we’re inside?”
Ash snorts, making Rowan bristle.
“I’m fine,” the owl says stoically.
“Suit yourself.”
It’s not very far to the cart, and it’s not raining as hard as it was in Albany.
Ash tips the groom and offers me his hand.
Once I’m in my seat, I watch him jog around the front, quickly greeting his horse. Rowan, wet, flies onto my lap and lands on my purse.
“Ew,” I say, tempted to shove him away. “This is why you should have let me carry you in my purse.”
“You’re already wet,” he points out. “What difference does a little more rainwater make?”
It’s not worth arguing about, so I don’t bother to respond.
When we reach my cottage, Ash turns to me, his eyes roving over my face. “How about you take the bird inside and then come over to my house for a while? I’ll make you dinner.”
“The bird?” Rowan demands.
“I’d like that,” I say to Ash, ignoring Rowan.
“The bird can take himself inside, thank you,” Rowan huffs, flying out of the cabriolet and toward the back of the cottage.
Ash coaxes the horse forward, driving toward his property.
I clasp my hands in my lap, nervous because he’s never invited me over before. It seems like a significant step in our relationship.
Does this mean we have a relationship? Are we a couple now?
I’m not sure how all this works. I was well on my way to becoming a pixie spinster before I moved to Moss Hollow. I just needed to adopt a few cats.
Though, technically, Chester isn’t far from one.
We continue down the lane. Once we leave my property, the trees open up to a fenced pasture.
Ash’s house sits in the middle of it, surrounded by a moat of rock and shrubs.
It looks like a landscape architect decorated it, focusing on making it low-maintenance and visually appealing.
Ash has no flowers, no yard decor, and certainly no weeds.
A small white barn stands toward the back of the property, at the edge of the cleared land. Just like the house, it appears to have been recently painted.
Ash stops near his front door. “I’ll let you inside, so you can stay out of the weather while I take care of the horse.”
Together, we walk to the door. Forgoing a key, he types a code into the lock.
“What is it?” he asks when I laugh to myself.
“You’re such a conundrum,” I answer. “You say you don’t mind driving your horse and cart around town, but you have an electronic keypad on your door.
You order your groceries with an app, and I wouldn’t be surprised if I were to walk into your living room and find a sixty-inch flat screen TV fixed to your wall. ”
Ash smiles to himself, pushing the door open.
The house is large and well-maintained, but it’s not ostentatious. A plush rug covers the hardwood in the small entry. There’s also a hall tree for jackets and a stand for the umbrella he probably should have taken with him this morning.
He leads me into the living room, gesturing to the wall. “It’s an eighty-six-inch flat screen.”
“Good heavens.” I laugh when I see the massive television.
My eyes wander over the rest of the space. Ash’s style could be described as academic, with his brown leather couches, bookshelves, and hunter green paint. A large brick fireplace occupies much of the side wall, and all his art appears old.
“This is lovely,” I say. “But you have no plants.”
“There are plenty of plants outside. I don’t believe I need them inside, too.”
“You have pictures of plants.” I gesture to the botanical prints on the wall. “But no living ones.”
He watches me, mildly amused. “I take it that’s a problem?”
“I don’t know that I can be comfortable hanging out in a house with no life,” I say, only half-joking. It makes me edgy.
Ash turns toward me, suavely catching me around the waist and pulling me in close. “You’re a fussy pixie, aren’t you?”
“Your clothes are damp,” I protest, but I don’t try to escape his embrace.
“That’s an easily remedied problem,” he teases, his voice a touch gritty.
“I think I misunderstood your offer,” I say, smiling. Knowing Ash likes it, I don’t bother to smother my summer magic. “I thought you were making me dinner. But it seems you have something else in mind.”
Ash closes his eyes, relishing the feel of my magic. “I love it when you shimmer for me, but today, it was your sunshine I missed.”
“Our outing was a bit nerve-racking,” I admit. “I didn’t feel very sunny.”
In fact, there’s a chance I contributed to the weather. But that doesn’t matter as much when we’re scheduled to get rain. At least no one can blame me for it.
Ash studies me, almost smiling. “But you feel sunny now?”
I nod, content.
He drops a promising kiss to my lips. “I have to take care of the horse, but I’ll hurry, all right?”
“Okay,” I say, a little disappointed when he releases me.
“I’ll be right back,” he promises, and then he’s out the door.
I wander the room, looking at pictures and the few knick-knacks Ash has placed about the space—a mantle clock, a stainless-steel lamp, and an old globe. Speakers are strategically hidden around the room, paired with the television, no doubt.
He has a digital picture frame as well. I pause in front of it, smiling as it scrolls through memories—Ash with his sister, Ash with his brother, Ash with his sister and brother. There’s another of the three of them with a woman who must be their mother.
There are several landscape pictures as well—many of the forest and some of the coast.
And then there’s another family photo. It’s older, taken many years ago.
Ash is a young man in this one. His shoulders are narrow and his face is youthful. He wears a high school graduation gown. His mother is there, along with the man who must be his father, Anna, Gideon, and…
Oh my word.
I pick up the frame, dragging the cord along with it, my eyes on the teen boy who stands as far away from Ash as he can, wearing graduation garb as well. He has a crooked grin, dimples, and reddish-brown hair.
He could be anyone. Anyone at all.
But I know.