“I sat in the tree outside the kitchen window and eavesdropped on your conversation.”
“Rowan!” I exclaim, setting my hands on my hips.
“What else am I supposed to do?”
“Oh, I don’t know—sit in any other tree?”
“I just wanted to see when Ash was leaving so I could come back inside,” the bird snaps. “It was a business meeting. How was I supposed to know he was going to make a pass at you?”
I growl, beyond frustrated, and turn down the hall.
“Where are you going?” he demands. “We’re not done yet.”
“Yes, we are. I’m going to bed. Tomorrow, I have a billion teas to try, a business to run, and I have to figure out how to turn you back into a man so I can boot your sorry self out of my house.”
I feel bad.
Maybe Rowan overstepped by a lot, but he’s been an owl most of his life. Obviously, his social skills have atrophied, much like unused muscles.
But I can’t live with him, and the only way to get rid of him is to turn him back. And that’s why I’m standing in front of the Moss Hollow Public Library at 8:58 AM, waiting for them to open their doors.
It’s overcast today, and my weather app says there’s a 75% chance of rain. Thankfully, this time, I’m not to blame.
I have an umbrella in my purse, but I can’t use that while I’m on Laverna’s old bike. I’m afraid it’s going to be a soggy ride home.
At 9:00 exactly, a woman unlocks the front door.
She pauses when she sees me, smiling warmly. “Have you been waiting long?”
“Only a few minutes,” I assure her.
She wears her gray hair short and curly. She’s probably in her seventies, though that can be difficult to discern with the fae.Dressed in a pale pink cardigan over a tea-length navy dress with a rosebud pattern, she’s maybe five feet tall…and even that feels like an illusion.
She has the most unique magic I’ve ever run across. I have no clue what sort of fae she is.
Peering up at the sky, she says, “At least it hasn’t started raining yet. Come on in.”
I follow her, feeling like a criminal as my purse squirms. I’m not a rule breaker, and my passenger is making me nervous. Not that there’s specifically a sign saying you can’t bring owls into the library.
“Stopmoving,” I hiss at Rowan, keeping my voice so low I’m not sure he’ll be able to hear me.
“Stopsquishingme,” is Rowan’s muffled reply.
The library smells like books, as most libraries do. But this one smells likeoldbooks. And there’s something else, too—a freshness that chases away the stale mustiness that sometimes attaches itself to aged paper. There’s magic here. I just can’t place what kind.
I pause, taking it in. It looks like a library straight from the 1800s, with hardwood floors and strange, narrow ramps that lead to raised balconies. Every wall and shelf is crammed full. The books should be leather-bound—that would fit the theme.
But no. They’re just…books. Normal books. Paperbacks. Children’s picture books. Glossy hardcovers.
My eyes stray to a man displaying his bare andverynicely toned chest on the cover of a romance novel on a display at the end of an aisle.
“That’s a good one.” The librarian pauses when she sees me looking at it. “He turns into a grizzly bear.Quitefun. The author has the details a little mixed up, of course, poor human. But I enjoyed it nevertheless.”
I press my lips together, trying not to laugh at the idea of the sweet librarian reading saucy shifter romances.
“Is there something you’re looking for in particular?” the woman asks me, rounding her desk and sitting atop a padded stool that’s embroidered with red, spotted toadstools. The desk plaque reads, “Mrs. Thimbleberry, Librarian.” There’s a pewter mouse paperweight next to it.
Pushing thoughts of bear shifters out of my brain, I shake my head to clear it. Rowan told me what to say on the way here, but I still feel like an idiot.
