Little Black Dress of Tea
We spend two hours in the library but find nothing helpful. I do, however, discover a book on gnomes that I’d like to buy my father for his birthday—if I can find it in the local bookstore.
I carry Rowan out in my purse, trying not tosuffocatehim this time. Then I turn on the side street and pause in the small alley behind the library. After a quick look around to make sure there’s no one watching, I open my purse and scoop him out.
He flaps his wings as he emerges, nearly smacking me in the face, and then lands on a nearby brick wall.
“I’m going to the shop now,” I tell him. “I have to learn everything there is to know about tea by mid-June.”
“You’re not going to become a tea sommelier that quickly.” Rowan follows me out of the alley and onto Main Street, landing in a tree ahead of me. When I’m close, he says, “But I could help you.”
There are people around. They prevent me from talking to him directly, so I pull my phone from my pocket and pause nearthe tree and pretend to take a call. “You want to come with me to the tea shop?”
“I spent most of my days with Laverna.”
“I did see a perch upstairs.” I think about it, worried it will violate some kind of health code. “I suppose as long as no one sees you…”
“I’ll meet you in the tea garden.” He leaves the tree, flying swiftly down the street.
As I pocket my phone, I watch him disappear into the cloudy sky, feeling a bit guilty that we didn’t find anything that will help me change him back.
“That’s a screech owl,” a man says from nearby. “We see them a lot. Or we see that particular one a lot. I haven’t figured out which it is yet.”
I turn toward the voice. The man has a solemn face and startlingly green eyes. He’s probably in his mid-thirties, and his features are sharp but pleasing, bordering on beautiful. His hair is so dark it’s almost black, and it’s cut short, telling me he’s probably not high fae even though I sense that magic on him.
He must be a mage.
“I’m Ansel,” he says.
“I’m—”
“Kathleen. I know.”
And then he walks away.
I stare after him, befuddled.
Ryder pauses in the walkway to join me. The elf is carrying a brown paper bag stamped with the bakery’s logo. “I see you’ve met our local sorcerer.”
“Sorcerer?” I ask him.
A mage who goes into the profession of magic is a sorcerer, but you don’t hear about them a lot these days. Magic doesn’t pay the bills like it used to when medieval kings had enemies tosmite. Not that people don’t have enemies that need smiting—but you can’t just hire a sorcerer on a job recruitment site.
“That’s right,” Ryder says. “Ansel Breckon, sorcerer extraordinaire, owns Moss Hollow Rocks and Gems.”
“Oh…he does the fireworks.”
“That’s right.” Ryder flashes me a flirty grin. “Hi, by the way. How are you? Are you on your way to your shop?”
“I’m fine, and I am.”
“I’ll walk with you. Meg called two minutes ago, begging me for a raspberry scone. She’s alone in her grandmother’s boutique and desperately needs sustenance.” The handsome elf leans a smidgen closer. “I think she just wants an excuse to see me.”
“Can you blame her?”
“Oh, I like you.” He falls into step beside me. “Have I told you that?”
I wave to Anna as she crosses the street ahead of us. “A few times, I think.”
