“Agent Thorne,” Wren said, emboldened by the moment, “I wonder if I could ask you something. Would you ever consider letting me interview you? Not about the current case,” she added quickly, seeing Exandra’s expression shift. “But about your career. Life as an agent. I think my readers would find it fascinating.”
Exandra looked like she might refuse. Then Fred quacked insistently, as if urging her to accept.
“All right,” Exandra said slowly. “Why not? I’m not doing anything else productive today. Let’s do it.”
“Wonderful! Should we find somewhere quiet? I saw some reading nooks in the back?—”
Fred suddenly launched himself from Wren’s arms into Exandra’s, nearly making her drop her book.
“Fred!” Wren exclaimed.
But Exandra was already cradling the duck, her whole demeanor softening. “Hello, darling boy. Have you come to keep me company?”
Fred snuggled into her arms and quacked contentedly, as if he’d found exactly where he needed to be.
“I think he’s made his choice clear,” Wren said with a smile. “Shall we? I think there’s an alcove over by the windows.”
They settledinto a small reading nook tucked into a bay window. Two wing-backed chairs faced each other across a small table, and the frosted windows created a private, cocooned feeling. Fred made himself comfortable in Exandra’s lap, occasionally quacking softly as if offering commentary.
Wren pulled out her notebook. “Thank you again for doing this. My editor has been asking for more profiles of magical professionals, and—well, you’re something of a legend.”
Exandra snorted. “A legend. Is that what they’re calling it now?”
“You’ve served with the Society for over eighty years. You’ve solved some of the most dangerous cases in modern magical history. That’s impressive.”
“Or stubborn.” Exandra stroked Fred’s feathers absently. “Depends on who you ask.”
Wren carefully avoided anything classified as she asked her initial questions. She asked Exandra about joining the Society, and about what her training had been like. She was surprised by Exandra’s openness. But when she probed about any particularly memorable cases, Exandra’s tone cooled. She answered professionally, guardedly, the way she’d been trained to handle countless questions from civilians over the years.
As they talked, Wren noticed Exandra’s gaze repeatedly drifting to a spot deeper in the library. Following her eyes, Wren sawMinerva curled up in a loveseat near the fireplace, a book laid open in her lap, looking peaceful and content.
“Minerva’s quite an interesting character, isn’t she?” Wren commented. “Did Zephyr speak of her much when you were at the agency together? I imagine he missed her terribly.”
“I’m sure he did miss her.” Exandra nodded. “But we didn’t usually talk much about our lives and families back home.” She thought for a moment, brow furrowing. “I supposed that her name did come up from time to time. I never understood why he insisted on staying at the Mudpuddle Bookshop every time she traveled. He said he needed to keep an eye on things there but there were others who could have done that. In retrospect, I suppose it was his way of keeping tabs on her, without things getting too complicated.” Exandra sighed and Wren noticed that her eyes had gone a bit glassy.
“You worked with him for years, didn’t you? He must have been an excellent partner.” Wren deftly changed the subject.
“The best.” Exandra’s voice softened. “Zephyr was always a skilled agent. Brave, clever, dedicated. But...” She paused, watching as Zephyr himself appeared in the library, toting a teapot and two mugs.
They watched in silence as Zephyr approached his wife. Minerva had begun to doze, her chin nodding and her book slipping from her fingers. With gentle care, Zephyr set down the tea service and draped a thick shawl over her shoulders.
Minerva stirred, blinking awake, and her face transformed when she saw him. Her eyes crinkled and she beamed at him. There was no mistaking that look. It was pure joy and love.
A moment later, Minerva held up her book, flipping back a few pages to show him something on the page, and he leaned in to read it. Then she produced an iced cookie from her apron pocket. It was crumbled around the edges, but she still offered it to him. He took a bite, and it fell apart, shedding sandy crumbs into his beard.
Minerva tutted and reached up to brush them away, but she was laughing as she did it. He was laughing as well. He caught her hand and then he pulled her close and kissed her, soft and sweet and completely unselfconscious.
“That’s the dream, isn’t it?” Wren said wistfully.
“What is?”
“That. What they have.” Wren gestured toward the couple. “Someone who knows you completely. Who makes you tea and brings you cookies and loves you even with crumbs in their beard.”
Exandra’s expression was complicated—wistful, sad, and something else Wren couldn’t quite name. “Yes. I suppose it is.”
Wren sighed, trying to picture herself eighty years from now. She could only hope she’d be half so content with her partner. And for some reason, she kept picturing Jasper. Which was ridiculous. They’d only just met.
“He seems different,” Exandra suddenly volunteered, almost begrudgingly. “Zephyr, I mean. When we worked together, he was good. Professional. But he always seemed... I don’t know. Like he was holding something back. Going through the motions.” She watched as Zephyr poured tea for Minerva, his movements tender. “He’s not like that now. He’s... present. Fully himself. Happy in a way I don’t think I ever saw before.”
