Nope.
I scanned the square. My mother was busy with the other cousins, my father was lost somewhere amongst the sunflowers, and I… Maybe Cousin Annie Beth didn’t think my magic was boring, but my life sure was. I enjoyed the party, the food, the music, and even the overalls. But something was missing. Something…or someone. I needed some excitement, I just didn’t know what form it would take.
But in that sliver of a moment, that infuriating gargoyle appeared in my mind once more.
I needed something enticing, not enraging.
“I have pie,” a voice said from behind me.
I turned to find Kevin with two plates loaded with slices of my mother’s horrible pie in his hands.
“Thank you,” I said, taking a plate from him.
He gave me a polite nod then stood there with his plate.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
He’d already tasted the pie, no doubt.
“My beetle got away.”
My spell had worked, ridding the party of mosquitoes and saving unsuspecting beetles from untimely deaths.
“I’m sorry.”
“Okay,” Kevin said then took a bite. He stared at the pie a moment, as if confused, then shrugged and took another bite.
With a defeated sigh, I turned and joined him, taking a bite of the hideous pie and wistfully watching the happy, dancing pairs while desperately wishing for something more.
CHAPTER 8
ERASMUS
Putting all thoughts of the annoying party planner, the elder, and the birthday celebration behind, I returned home that night to my work. I slipped in through the roof with ease. The bookwyrms were doing well, busy with their evening frolics or simply reading.
The library itself was hard at work. The shelves reorganized themselves, putting away scrolls and tomes or reshelving books in the right spot. The broom worked cleaning up the dust, rags oiled the stairwell banister, making the wood shine. Any stray magic that had been left behind by the students’ studies was rounded up and ingested by the bookwyrms, who chased the odd glowing balls or whisps of light. The bookwyrms enjoyed hunting and chasing the random bites of mana, more treats than problems.
I slipped into my study, going to my workbench once more. I shook out my wings and gathered my old tools. Once or twice, I had seen newer equipment in the marketplace, something that may have worked better and faster at restoring old books and scrolls, but I didn’t need modern contraptions.
I was perfectly content with things as they were.
Just like I didn’t need party balloons in my atrium.
Or cake.
Or fireworks.
But the image of those fiery hazel eyes and freckled cheeks, turning red with frustration, retuned once more.
Shaking Miss Windsong from my mind, I turned back to my work repairing the binding on one of the books. It was simple work. Using a combination of my magic and the tools, I had the book settled in no time.
My eyes drifted to the chest with the witch’s grimoire.
Perhaps a little more work tonight…
But a noise from the library captured my attention once more.
First there was a thud. Then, I heard a delighted squeal. One of the bookwyrms puffed loudly, the distinct scent of cinnamon filling the air. And then the terrible, unmistakable scraping sound of something being dragged across the floor with great determination and very little grace came to my ears.
