Not wanting to draw Ash’s attention to my annoying owl, I quickly step away from the crabapple and follow Ash up the brick steps that lead to the entrance of the building. A notification board hangs on the wall just outside the door, and there’s an event calendar posted on it.
June looks like it’s going to be a busy month for Moss Hollow.
I frown at the schedule. “You have fireworks every Saturday? Isn’t that ridiculously expensive? How does the town afford it?”
“If we were using human-crafted fireworks, it would be, yes. But ours are created by the mages who own the rock and gem store—Ansel and his sister, Rosalie. She’s an alchemist, and he’s a sorcerer. They’re American, but they studied at a mages college in Scotland. We’re fortunate to have them.”
That makes me think of Rowan again. Did he attend a mages college in his youth? Did he have training before he attempted to create new magic?
I’ve never had formal magic education. Pixies don’t. Since we can’t wield it like the fae and mages can—can’t bend it to our will no matter how we might try—there’s really no point. It’s just there, inside of us. Or maybe it’s more accurate to say wearemagic. It’s woven into our beings like a ribbon.
That thought makes me frown. How am I supposed to help Rowan turn back into his mage self? He, of all people, should know it’s an impossible feat.
I follow Ash inside the building. A blonde-haired, high fae receptionist sits at the counter, on the phone. “I’m not sure I understand,” she says to the caller. “Did you say it was analligator?”
She turns her eyes to Ash and grimaces.
Next to me, the councilman sighs.
“Yes, sir, of course,” she says patiently. “I would find it unsettling if an alligator wandered onto my porch as well. Butare you sure it wasn’t a domestic lizard, like an iguana? Perhaps a pet that escaped someone’s house?” She pauses, listening. “No, I understand. It was an alligator.”
“Here?” I ask Ash quietly. “How is that possible?”
“I’ll contact the sheriff’s office,” she promises before Ash can answer me. “They’ll send someone to investigate it. Thank you for your call.”
The woman hangs up, flustered. “Ash, I swear, if Dorian can’t contain his dragons, we’re going to have to revoke his fae beast permit.”
“Who called in the complaint?” Ash asks.
She glances at the notes she’s taken on a yellow legal pad. “His name is Graham Green. He’s renting a house for the summer.”
“Human?”
“Naturally.”
“The alligator is a dragon?” I ask.
“They’re part of a breeding program,” she explains. “Icelandic leatherhides. They’re flightless, dark olive, and can reach about ten feet long. The poor creatures are almost extinct.”
“The poor creatures can be almost extinct somewhere else,” Ash says. “This is the third time this year one of them has escaped Dorian’s property. Someone is going to get eaten. I told Gideon it was a bad idea.”
She nods, looking particularly vexed, and then her attention moves back to me. Even though she looks like she could use chocolate as badly as Meg’s grandmother, she dons a pleasant expression. “You must be Kathleen. Ash said he was taking you around today.”
“I am. I go by Kit.”
“This is my sister, Annalora,” Ash says.
“Anna is fine,” she adds.
“Why are you at the front desk?” he asks. “Where’s Bailey?”
“She bumped into a man on the street who lost his wife a few weeks ago.” Anna frowns. “I had to send her home.”
“She’ll be all right,” Ash says, and then he pauses. “Areyou?”
She shrugs, looking down at the pad of paper. “You know how it is when she’s upset.”
Ash turns to me, feeling the need to explain. “Bailey is a winter pixie.”
