Chapter 2
A Bill in the Welcome Basket
Iscream.
I mean, of course I scream. Thankfully, it’s more of a yelp of shock than a prolonged screech of horror.
“No one mentioned you’re a shifter,” I breathe once I recover.
“I’m a mage,” the owl responds.
“How are you talking? Shifters can’t communicate while they’re in their animal form.”
“I’m not ashifter,” he says, exasperated. “I’m amage.”
“Your beak isn’t moving.”
“You’re going to make this difficult, aren’t you?”
“Mages can’t turn into animals.”
“I can,” he grumbles. “I’ve just found it difficult to change back.”
I think about that for a moment. “You can’t turn back to your normal self?”
“Ican. I just haven’t accomplished it yet.”
“So…you can’t.”
He ruffles his feathers, peering at me with his unblinking eyes.
“Are we related?” I ask. “Is that why my aunt was taking care of you?”
“I’m a grown man and take care of myself. And did I say I’m a pixie? I did not. I said I’m a mage. So, what do you think? Are we related?”
“What I think is that you’re a little sassy considering you’re the size of one of those big-eyed, collectible stuffed animals.”
“Awhat?”
“The stuffed animals with the name tags—you know what, never mind. Magescanbe part pixie, too, you know. They’re not alljusthigh fae and human.”
Most are, though, because pixie magic is fussy and cannot be passed to the next generation if one parent is a different race.
“There isn’t a mage alive who wields pixie magic,” he says haughtily, like he thinks I’m simple and don’t know how our fae genetics work.
“I didn’t claim they would wieldpixiemagic. I’m just saying that if a high fae were to have a child with—” I cut myself off. “You know what? Never mind. It doesn’t matter. Why did my aunt include your care in her will?”
“I’m here because Laverna was a friend when I was young. She took me in when…” He doesn’t seem eager to finish that sentence.
“You grew feathers?”
I distinctly hear his long-suffering sigh, but again, his beak doesn’t move. “Yes.”
“How are you talking to me? If you can use your magic to speak, why can’t you turn yourself back?”
He’s silent for a moment, like he doesn’t want to tell me. Finally, he admits, “I’m wearing an amulet.”
On closer inspection, I see the small pendant. It’s on a thin chain, almost hidden in the soft, short feathers around his neck.
