“Come inside.” Ansel steps into his workshop, waving us forward. “Excuse the mess.”
Mess is putting it lightly.
The place is a wreck. There are rocks stacked on every surface. Big rocks, little rocks, piles of tiny rocks. Like a woodworker’s shop, there’s also every tool imaginable—saws, drills, and a great many things I have no name for but assume must be specifically designed for mineral use.
There are also oddities layered on the tables, placed amongst the rocks. Dozens of glass canning jars rest on the benches, some full of gelatinous, glowing substances. A blooming lily chatters like a lovebird in a birdcage, and a concerning to-scale model of Moss Hollow sits smack-dab in the middle of the floor.
A fat, leather-bound spellbook rests on a stand under a window, open about halfway. The illustration shows a dragon-shaped firework blooming across a night sky.
Fascinated, and slightly disturbed, I ask, “Are you preparing for tonight’s fireworks?”
“Iwas.”
Right.
“Explain what your cousin plans to do with a naïve summer pixie and a dust pendant,” Ansel says to Ash, and then he glances my way. “No offense.”
I cross my arms. “Somewhat taken.”
His eyes narrow on me. “Did you grow up in an isolated gnome’s tree? What pixie doesn’t know to run the other way when a mage says he’s got plans for her magic?”
“It’s not like that,” I argue, feeling the need to defend my new feathered friend. “He’s going to teach me how to wield it soIcan change him back.”
Ansel studies me. “That’s impossible. I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“All right. But have you ever heard of a mage turning himself into an animal? Because he accomplishedthat.”
“Let’s say we siphon some of your magic into a dust pendant.” Ansel begins pacing, intrigued by the predicament. “Even if I could teach you how to use it, it still won’t be wieldable. Pixie magic isn’t stable in its raw form.”
“We?” I demand. “You?”
“Rowan’s professor suggested we temper it,” Ash says, ignoring me.
Ansel’s eyebrows shoot up. “Now that’s an intriguing idea. But with what? We couldn’t use your magic. We can’t use mine.”
“I was thinking Ryder might be able to assist us,” I say. Then, so it sounds like I know what I’m talking about and am qualified to participate in the conversation, I add, “Because he’s anelf.”
Ansel laughs like it’s a joke.
I set my hands on my hips. “What’s wrong with Ryder?”
“She’s serious?” Ansel asks Ash.
The councilman rolls his eyes, nodding.
Ansel stares at the wall as he plots. “I’ll think of something.”
“What about a dust pendant?” Ash asks.
“Yes, we’ll need one of those.”
“That’s what you’re for,” I say. “That’s why we’rehere.”
“Me?” Ansel shakes his head, flipping through his spellbook. “I don’t run in those circles.” Something about the way he says it makes me think he almost tacked “anymore” onto the end.
“You’re telling me you don’t knowanyone?” Ash asks, giving the mage a pointed look.
Ansel frowns. After several seconds, he wrinkles his nose. “All right, possibly. Let me make a few calls. But for now, get out—I have fireworks to plan.”
