You Can’t Die if You Don’t Try
You Can’t Die if You Don’t Try
Iwalk into the rock shop, feeling weird without Ash. But he’s working, and I don’t think he’d appreciate another interruption.
Rosalie looks over from the bulk display of polished rocks, pausing in her task of organizing the small velvet bags. “Hi, Kit.”
“Hey.”
We haven’t officially been introduced, but she knows my name just like I know hers. It’s a little awkward.
“Are you looking for Ansel?” she asks. “He’s in the workshop. You can go on back.”
I nod, wondering if she knows what we’re up to. “Thanks.”
With my nerves jumbled in an anxious knot, I go behind the counter and pass through the enchanted door. The workshop is open this time, but I pause to knock on the frame.
Ansel looks up from the central workbench, looking a bit startled, like he was thinking deeply about something when I interrupted.
“Hi,” I say awkwardly. “Rowan said he’d fly through the park and wait near the back.”
My eyes move to the heavy door at the rear of the workshop.
Ansel nods, crossing the space and opening the door, revealing the small private courtyard behind the shop. The stone wall that encloses the space is constructed like mine, blocking our properties from the public park behind us.
Rowan flies inside, wet from the rain even though he tried to stay out of it. He lands on a large rock on the workbench and scans the space, looking skeptical. “Your workshop is a wreck.”
“At least I have a workshop,” Ansel replies.
Rowan doesn’t have a retort for that, so he fluffs his feathers. Though he looks annoyed, I think he’s a little scared.
“Call Ryder, Kit,” he instructs.
“What about Ash?” I feel guilty. “Will he be upset that we’re doing this without him?”
“I don’t want him here.”
I nod, acknowledging my focus needs to be on Rowan right now.
After texting Ryder, I wander the room, looking at the sorcerer’s oddities. Not even five minutes later, our elf arrives.
Ansel slaps a “do not disturb” sign on the hall door before closing it, and then he flips the lock.
“All right, here’s how this is going to work.
First, we’re going to fill the dust pendant about three-quarters of the way full of Kit’s magic.
We’ll break the link and then top it off with Ryder’s and see how the magic responds.
“If they appear stable, I’ll deplete my magic with a torch spell.” He points toward a blackened hearth that looks like it’s seen its fair share of experiments. “I’ve timed it before, and it takes roughly eighty-two seconds.”
“Roughly?” Ryder says, amused.
Ansel ignores him. “Once I’m low, I will perform a magic cache link and tap into the dust pendant. We’ll then begin the metamorphosis. Any questions?”
“Are you going to be able to perform the metamorphosis if you’re exhausted?” I ask. “I understand why you have to spend your magic to accomplish this, but won’t it take a good deal of energy to work the spell?”
“I’ll be fine.”
I’m not sure I believe him. I don’t know a lot about wieldable magic, but I am aware it takes a physical toll. This sounds like Ansel plans to run two marathons in a single day.
“Have a seat, Kit.” Ansel points to a wooden chair by his bench. “Let’s get started.”
My stomach lurches, but I do as he instructs.
“You don’t have to do this, Kit,” Rowan says again, and this time, there’s a panicked edge to his voice.
“I know I don’t. It’ll be okay.”
Ansel slips on a pair of gloves and opens the velvet pouch that holds the dust pendant.
Rowan flies over to the table next to me. “This isn’t a good idea. I’ve changed my mind. We’ll figure out something else—we’ll find an elf who can perform the spell without all…this.”
I meet his eyes, recognizing the fear I see there. “Sacrificing a little magic isn’t going to hurt me.”
He flaps his wings. “We’re jumping in too quickly. We need to research more.”
“It’s all right,” Ansel says quietly. “I’ve handled pixie magic before.”
We all turn to him, startled.
“I don’t particularly want to talk about it, but just know…I’m confident I can do this without hurting Kit.”
My mouth goes dry, and when I try to swallow, it feels like my throat is parched. “You’ve siphoned pixie magic before?”
The mage tilts the velvet bag, letting the chain and pendant fall onto his protected hand. “Yes.”
“Was it…I mean… Did they agree to it?”
He’s quiet for several seconds as he frowns at the pendant. “No.”
I nearly bolt out of the chair, but I find myself frozen in place.
The sorcerer slowly lifts his eyes to mine. “But that was many years ago, and I’m not the same person I was back then. I swear, I’m not going to hurt you.”
There are shadows in his emerald eyes—regrets and darkness and self-loathing. But nothing malicious. Nothing that feels sinister.
“I trust you,” I whisper.
“Kit!” Rowan exclaims.
I sit straight and exhale out a sharp breath. “Go ahead.”
“I’m going to slip this over your head, all right?”
Terrified, I grip the hard wooden arms of the chair and nod.
“NO,” Rowan cries. He flies up, trying to knock the chain out of Ansel’s hands, but Ryder catches him mid-air, wrapping the squalling owl in his rain jacket to contain him. “Would you calm down? Kit knows what she’s agreed to.”
And the elf is right—I do know.
Ansel waits, making sure I’m ready.
“Do it,” I say, terrified I’ll change my mind if we wait any longer.
I clench my eyes shut as he lowers the chain over my head. Gently, he moves my hair aside, so the metal rests against my neck.
“Pull the collar of your shirt out just a little,” he instructs. “I need to slip the pendant under it so that it makes contact with your skin.”
“What’s it going to feel like?” I ask, my voice full of nerves.
Ansel meets my eyes again. “You’re going to feel desolate for a few minutes while the pendant is filling. It’s temporary, and it’s not physically painful.”
“So, like…sad?”
He nods.
Preparing myself, I pull out my shirt collar just enough Ansel can slip the pendant inside.
When the cool glass meets my skin, I gasp. It glows white-hot through my shirt, but it’s cold.
And suddenly…everything is wrong.
I cry out, startled by the depth of my sorrow. It hits like a cold wave back home, drowning me, pulling me into its deep, dark depths.
Vaguely, I hear Rowan yelling. Ryder fights with him, trying to keep him still.
Thunder crashes, and a gust of wind hits the shop with the force of a gale. The sky goes dark, and the rain starts again, violent this time.
The storm shakes the building and screams at the windows. But I’m numb to it all, drowning in icy darkness. I’m sinking, losing consciousness, unable to fight my way to the surface.
Ansel yells something, and then Ryder.
“You have to break the pendant!” Rowan cries.
Why? I think, my thoughts distant. What’s wrong with the pendant?
I’m slipping. It’s chaos around me, but the voices sound far away.
The chair is gone. The workshop is gone.
There’s darkness and sadness, and nightmares dancing just beyond the shadows.
“It’s not stable by itself,” I hear Ansel cry. Then he says something I don’t understand. Something about the magic. “Ryder, now!”
An explosion nearly shakes me awake, a brief flash of fire in the darkness. It’s followed by more yelling.
“I’m not sure this will work!” Ansel cries. “It might—”
“JUST DO IT!” Rowan yells.
Heat envelops the room—heat and sunshine. Warmth. Hope. It chases the shadows away, but they’re still here, still trying to take me. They wrap their ethereal fingers around me, pulling me toward an empty hole.
And then glass shatters.
The coldness abates, vanishing, leaving me adrift in warm darkness that feels safe.
“Kit,” a man with a gravelly voice says urgently from the haze that’s lightening, sounding like he’s fighting his way to me. “KIT, WAKE UP.”
“For goodness’ sake, cover yourself first,” Ryder exclaims, sounding shaken.
I try to open my eyes, but I can’t remember how.
“Kit,” the man urges.
As the darkness slowly evaporates, I become aware of my surroundings. A hand clutches the back of my neck. An arm is wrapped around my shoulders. I’m on someone’s lap.
I lift my hand, touching skin.
When I finally manage to pry my eyes open, I come face-to-face with a man’s chest. A man’s bare chest.
“How…” My voice sounds scratchy. “How did you lose your shirt?”
A gritty chuckle rumbles against my fingertips, drawing my attention up.
Gray eyes stare back at me—gray eyes I’ve never looked into but are instantly familiar.
I gasp, shaking myself out of my delirium.
“You’re awake.” The man clutches me close, his hair brushing against my cheek as he wraps himself around my back and hugs me tightly.
“Rowan?” I blink back tears, pulling back to look at him.
“Hi,” he whispers, his eyes searching mine. Seconds later, a crooked grin graces his face, stealing the last of my ragged breath.
“You’re…” I gulp, taking in his strong jaw and dimples, his expressive mouth and lowered eyebrows. “You’re…not eighteen.”
He laughs, helping me sit up and giving me space to breathe.
Seconds later, Ryder pulls me to my feet. Once the elf has me, Rowan lies flat on his back, breathing hard, naked except for Ryder’s jacket covering…well, it’s covering things that need to be covered.
“You all right, Tinker Bell?” the elf asks me, looking me over with a scowl, drawing my attention away from Rowan.
“I feel like I just drowned,” I admit.
“Dust pendants are supposed to stop drawing magic once they’re full.” Ansel’s hand is clutched to the back of the chair like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. “This one malfunctioned. Even when your magic was spilling over, it kept siphoning.”
“How did you…” My eyes return to Rowan. Then, brilliantly, I say, “Rowan’s not an owl anymore.”
“We worked quickly,” Ansel says wryly, sinking onto the chair like his legs can’t support his weight any longer. “We couldn’t afford to let your magic go to waste, and I was afraid the pendant was about to shatter.”
I glance at the broken dust pendant lying on the floor next to Rowan.
“Is that the explosion I heard? Or was it the fire spell you used to deplete your magic?”
“The explosion was Ryder,” Rowan says from the floor, eyes closed.
Ryder winces, nodding.
“We couldn’t use the pendant to siphon his magic, since it was still connected to you,” Ansel says.
“I had to draw both your magic and his into my body, using myself as a vessel to wield them. I’m not sure what the long-term side effects of that are going to be.
But it worked. That’s all that matters—”
A loud banging sounds from the door.
“ANSEL!” Rosalie yells. “What in the realms are you doing in there?!”
“Do you have a change of clothes you could let me borrow?” Rowan asks, rolling his head to look at Ansel. “I can’t leave like this.”
Ansel laughs first, and then the rest of us join him. I clutch my stomach, as relieved as I am exhausted.
I think there’s an excellent chance we all just about died—but we didn’t. And Rowan is no longer an owl.
“Do you think you can walk back to the tea shop?” I ask him.
Our eyes meet, and a lazy grin spreads over his face. “As soon as I remember how.”