“I’m fine.” Rowan flies onto Ansel’s headrest, intently looking out the windshield.
The lights are on inside the coffee shop, and the storm is so dark, it’s easy to see the patrons at their tables. It’s a chain sort of place, with fancy seasonal coffees and lots of whipped cream—the kind of cafe where people won’t pay much attention to the four men who claim a table near the right corner window.
I’m suddenly hit with a bout of nerves.
As if sensing it, Rowan cranes his neck to look over at me. “Are you all right?”
“Ansel never said if the mages made the pendant to order, or if they had one lying around.”
“What difference does it make?”
“If they had an extra in their stock, does that mean they use them?”
Rowan thinks about it. “I don’t know.”
Now he sounds uneasy, too.
“Ash is many things, but he’s not an idiot,” Rowan finally says. “He won’t tell them where we’re from.”
I nod. “And it’s not like it’s that hard to find a pixie. They’d have no reason to come after me.”
“But it’s not always easy to find a summer,” he says quietly.
And he’s right. Winters were never kidnapped for their magic, for obvious reasons. Autumns rarely, since their magic is comforting but subtle. Springs were targeted for love potions, but their magic is so chaotic, it was too unpredictable to be of much use.
But summers.
We were desirable in those black-market days.
Aredesirable?
Maybe I should have stayed home.
“Don’t become overly anxious. It’s not that difficult to find a fae community,” Rowan points out. “There’s no reason to hunt you specifically.”
I nod, knowing he’s right. “Did Laverna ever have trouble? She was a summer.”
“The only summer in town,” he agrees. “And not that I know of.”
My eyes are glued to Ash, Ansel, and their two tablemates. They’re talking longer than I expected. I thought they’d buy the dust pendant and be done with it.
“Do you know any defensive magic?” I ask.
“Some,” Rowan says. “But these days, it’s used more for recreation than defense—much like humans shoot targets and whatnot.”
“Right.”
“I can’t access my magic now anyway.”
“No, I know. I was just wondering if maybe you could teach me something once we extract mine. Something that might be useful if anyone were ever to…you know.”
“Something like what?” he asks, distracted.
I pull my eyes from the coffee shop and look at Rowan solemnly. “I want to learn how to throw fireballs.”
He hoots out an unexpected laugh and then clamps his beak shut. “You’ll never be able to conjure flames in your hands. Like a mage, you’ll have to use a wand.”
“I get a wand?” I ask.
