“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 spendyour 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 theyagreeto 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.
