“That’s not an excuse.”
He moves the reins to one hand and offers me his other. “Forgive me?”
“We’ll see,” I tease lightly, sliding my palm into his.
Moss Hollow is beautiful at night, with a warm glow coming from the streetlights and shop windows. There are twinkle lights in the trees, and landscape lighting illuminates flower beds.
“It’s so lovely,” I say.
“It is,” Ash agrees. “And it takes a lot of work to keep it this way.”
“You’re good at your job.”
“I try.”
We leave Main Street, and the glow of the town fades behind us. Ash’s carriage lights illuminate the road, making it possible to travel at night. But the woods feel different in the dark, maybe even a little sinister.
Perhaps that’s why my mind wanders back to the meeting with Professor Bellview.
The thought of siphoning my magic sends a chill down my spine. I think of stories from our past, of pixies held captive, drained of their magic repeatedly so it could be used to enchant jewelry and make potions, until they finally succumbed to the weakness and died.
Only a fool would willingly allow a mage to siphon her magic. I shouldn’t have agreed—it’s just too dangerous.
But if I don’t help Rowan, he’ll be stuck as an owl for the rest of his life.
Dark clouds roll across the moon. I don’t notice them until Ash squeezes my hand, startling me out of my dark thoughts.
“Is that your storm?” he asks.
“Probably,” I sigh. “Sorry.”
“What’s the matter?”
“It’s not something I’m free to talk about.”
“Are you homesick?” he asks, his usually abrupt tone gentle.
“Yes, but it’s not just that. I feel responsible for something, but I’m not sure I can do what needs to be done to fix it.”
“If you can’t open the tea shop by the festival, you can have more time.”
I’m sure he means it, but the words sound like they were difficult to spit out.
I smile despite my worries. “No, it’s not that. It’s something else.”
“Something that Laverna saddled you with?”
I pause, unsure if I should answer. “Yes.”
“If this is about that stupid owl, I swear I’ll get rid of him for you myself.”
I laugh abruptly, startled. “Why would you think it’s about the owl?”
He turns to look at me. It’s dark, so his brown eyes are gently lit with his fae magic. “How much do you know about him?”
The question makes me uncomfortable. Swallowing, I clasp my hands in my lap. “I did some research before I came to Moss Hollow. He’s an eastern screech owl.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
