As soon as we exit the building, I run across the parking lot to my car. But I forget to unlock the doors, so the slick handle snaps back, breaking my fingernail and nearly making me curse.
Finally, I manage to get inside the car, owl and all. Rowan flies to his perch atop the passenger seat headrest, but he’s dripping wet and nearly misses.
I turn on the car, and I’m about to pull out when Rowan says, “Take a minute to calm down.”
“I’m fine.”
“The rain says otherwise.”
A bright flash of lightning is immediately followed by a crack of thunder.
I decide Rowan’s right and put the car back into park.
“Laverna caused a few rainstorms, but I’ve never seen a pixie-drawn thunderstorm,” Rowan says, his voice too careful. “Did Professor Bellview scare you that badly?”
I wonder what it would be like to be a different type of fae? I’m not particular—any of them would be fine as long as people couldn’t witness the physical manifestation of my feelings.
“It was disturbing,” I say sharply. “Don’t pretend it wasn’t.”
“I didn’t realize he was extracting magic,” Rowan says heavily.
“I won’t do it. We’re going to have to find some other way to turn you back to your normal self.”
He’s quiet for a minute, and he twists his head one way and then the other. “All right.”
I expect him to argue, but this quick agreement makes me feel almost guilty. Which is ridiculous. It’s my magic—if I want it to remain in my body, thenthat’swhere it should stay.
Turning my eyes to the wet campus, I force myself to take a slow, deep breath. There are puddles on the ground, and many of the flowers have succumbed to the weight of the water, lying on their sides. They’ll be fine, but that makes me feel bad, too.
The storm rages on for another fifteen minutes, and then, the sun peeks through the clouds. Mages emerge from the buildings, peering at the puddles and the blue sky, flummoxed.
“You’re going to hate me for saying this, but you’re magnificent,” Rowan says solemnly, looking out the windshield.
“I think you mean turbulent,” I correct, though the odd praise warms me.
“Yes. That too.”
I smile a little, and then I sniff. “I’m sorry I won’t help you.”
“It’s too much to ask.”
“It feels selfish, though. You made one mistake, and now here you are—a bird. And I…I…”
“You’re going to bring back the rain if you’re not careful,” he says gently.
“Are you very miserable?” I whisper.
“The clouds are building again. The meteorologists will have a fit trying to figure this out.”
“Rowan, tell me.”
“It’s not uncomfortable to be in this form, no. It was hard to adjust to, obviously. And it’s inconvenient to have wings instead of hands. But it’s not miserable.”
“I don’t mean physically.”
“I know that, but it would be selfish of me to answer the question truthfully, so I was avoiding it.”
I draw in a deep breath and then nod. “Let’s go home.”
