“Your arms are bare, and my talons would scratch you. At least your purse strap and clothing are protecting your shoulder.”
“I feel like a pirate.”
“I’m not a parrot,” he snaps.
“No, but you’re the size of one.”
“I amnot.”
“You’re right—more like a parakeet.”
Before he can respond, a young blonde mage stops not far from us. Her eyes go soft when she spots Rowan. “Oh my gosh. He’s so cute.”
I look at Rowan, my cheek brushing his soft feathers. “Thanks.”
“Is he, like, tame?” She takes a tentative step forward. “Can I pet him?”
I shouldn’t. I really shouldn’t.
“Yeah, absolutely,” I say. “He likes it when you pat his head.”
“You’re going to pay for this,” Rowan mutters as the girl scampers over.
“Don’t cause a scene or they’ll kick you out,” I whisper back.
“He’s so soft,” the young woman says as she strokes her hand over Rowan’s feathers. Then, in a baby voice, she says to him, “You’re such a good boy, aren’t you? What a littledoll.”
He shifts a little, moving one of his talons so it’s off my purse strap—then he digs it into my shoulder.
“What’s his name?” she asks.
I grit my teeth against the pain and put on a smile. “Mr. Feathers.”
“That’s so cute.” She laughs, scratching the top of his head. “Do you think he’d let me hold him?”
“Sure.” I scoop him up, tempted to give him a good squeeze, and then I set him on the young woman’s shoulder.
Rowan stares back at me, death threats in his glare. I raise my eyebrows in a silent, “What?”
It’s not until I pull my eyes away that I realize we’re drawing a crowd. Several more women arrive, along with a couple of younger guys. They all gather around Rowan, proving that the college doesn’t see owls all that often.
As they tell him he’s “such a handsome boy, yes you are,”I acknowledgeI’m going to pay for this.
But it’s worth it.
When I think he’s probably at his wits’ end, I gently push forward. “Mr. Feathers and I need to get going now.”
“Thank you for letting us see him,” the blonde woman says solemnly. “I think I’d like to get one. He’s so sweet. Where did you find him?”
I return Rowan to my shoulder. “I inherited him from my great aunt.”
Looking disappointed that I can’t point her toward an owl breeder, she nods. Pouting a little like she’sso darn sadthey’re parting, she says, “Bye, Mr. Feathers.”
Feeling ornery, I take his wing and wave it for his new fan club. “Say goodbye, baby. Bye, everyone! Bye!”
“I hate you,” he hisses.
“Oh, you’re fine.” I laugh once we’re out of earshot. “Besides, it’s your fault for changing yourself into something so cute. I guarantee you’d get more attention if you were a gryphon, but no one would dare pet you.”
