Page 63 of My Faire Lady

I squint. “Does that cat have…feathers?”

Scarlet straightens, and the creature follows her into the kitchen, chirping like a sparrow with every step.

Scarlet opens a cabinet and pulls out a bag of bird feed. “This is Nesbit. She’s been our family pet since, well, forever.”

I swallow. “What is she?”

Scarlet dumps the food into a small metal bowl, and Nesbit’s feathers ruffle down the length of her spine as she buries her head into the feed.

She chuckles. “You know, I’m not entirely sure what she is. Some sort of feline aviary. She’s slow to warm up to new people, and she’s hated Boden longer than I’ve been alive, but she’s sweet once she trusts you.”

Nesbit watches me from the corner of her eyes, as if I’m about to steal the bowl out from under her mouth. Beak?

Scarlet slides the bag of food into the cabinet and faces me, resting her forearms against the kitchen counter.

She raises a brow. “Well?”

Part of me wants to let her wipe my memories. It would be far easier to pretend this never happened—that I had a fun summer working at a Renaissance Faire. But if I took that route, I wouldn’t be able to finish the gown for the contest. If I wipe my memories, hundreds of mythical creatures could lose their lives.

And I don’t want to forget Scarlet. I don’t want to leave her. To lose her. Not yet.

I push off the sill and adjust the hem of my—Scarlet’s—shirt. “Of course, I’ll help.”

I expect a smile to spread across her face, but she only stares at me a moment longer, as if there’s a small part of her that wanted me to say no. Nesbit finishes her dinner and hops to the counter, pressing her face into Scarlet’s palm.

Her gaze doesn’t leave mine as she whispers, “Are you sure?”

My heart wrenches at the darkness that wafts over her face. It takes everything not to close the distance and smooth the worry from her lips.

I nod. “I know you don’t have a choice, and I imagine that no matter how much you love this place, a small part of you wishes you had the chance to leave like I do. But I’m here, Scarlet. And that’s my choice.”

Finally, the tiniest hint of a smile curves her lips. “Thank you.” She scoops Nesbit from the counter. “You’ll be sleeping in my room, and I’ll take the couch.”

Before I have a chance to argue, she plops Nesbit onto a makeshift nest beside the hearth and traces a rune on the wall. The bedroom door swings open, and she tilts her chin toward it. “Good night, Lottie.”

23

Islide the stable door open, and its hinges groan, echoing through the early morning quiet.

Lottie glances inside and raises a brow. Dark circles cling to the skin beneath her eyes, but when she padded out of my room before sunrise and I told her to get more rest, she refused.

“We’re starting here?” she whispers, pulling my borrowed jacket tighter over her chest.

“It’s a Sunday morning ritual.”

I study the way the collar of the jacket brushes her jaw. Eventually, she’ll go home and get her own clothes, but the roads are still closed from last night’s storm.

And, I have to admit, my clothes look good on her.

“So, Shadow is actually a pegasus?” she says.

I nod. “And Jeremy’s horse is actually a unicorn.”

“And this whole time, I just thought you had really believable costumes.” She scoffs and steps onto the hay-packed floor.

I follow behind, passing through the hairline rays of morning light that filter through the beams overhead. The air is stale and thick from wet hay, and I lead her toward Shadow’s stall.

“We have a special visitor,” I whisper over the waist-high door, where Shadow has a wing slung over her head, blocking out the light.