A clatter like a miniature stampede sounded behind him. A baby goat burst into the room at full tilt, hooves skittering wildly on the hardwood, a crumpled piece of construction paper clamped between its teeth. Close behind came a gangly preteen girl with clumsily braided hair. She hurdled a laundry basket and nearly tripped on a pile of Legos in pursuit.
“Emma.” Ethan sighed.
“Dad, do something!” Emma shouted back.
The goat bleated, then made a sharp left and launched itself onto the couch. A pillow went flying, and Emma skidded, somehow toppling sideways.
With the exception of the goat, who happily trotted in a circle, everyone sat stunned for a moment. A picture frame clinked off the wall onto the floor but miraculously didn’t shatter.
The girl sat up with a groan and found a half-unwrapped lollipop had fused itself to the back of her hair.
“Ugh!” she wailed. “It’s in my braid!”
Ethan stepped forward, scooped the goat midair, turned to Honey, and shoved it into her arms. “Just one second.”
“Sir, this is not…” She held the goat aloft. The creature was absurdly solid for its size, with short, coarse hair the color of old snow and disproportionately large hooves that dangled as she held it. One ear stuck out at a rakish angle, and its little beard twitched as it let out a disgruntled bleat.
Ethan was already kneeling by Emma and gently peeling the lollipop from her hair with the skill of a man who’d done it a hundred times before. “Go finish getting dressed,” he muttered once he’d detached it. “And for the love of god, hurry please. Ms. Marrow will have my head if you’re late again.”
Emma stompedoff.
Scraping a hand across his face, Ethan leaned against the island counter.
She felt bad for him. The man wore a five o’clock shadow despite it being barely 9 a.m. Clearly, the family and the house needed a bit of order, and some people were just not naturally inclined to do so.
The goat nibbled at the cuff of her blazer, and she shifted the creature in her arms. It was remarkably warm and now making small snuffling noises into her collarbone. She sighed.
This was not how this was supposed to go. She was supposed to arrive, flash her badge, and be escorted to the well with nothing more than maybe a polite offer of tea. Instead, she was holding livestock while a man she barely knew seemed on the verge of collapsing.
“Sir…” Honey said.
“I’m sorry. Can I help you with something?” He finally looked at her.
His eyes were a deep brown, and when they landed on her, something in her chest fluttered entirely against her will. She took a deep breath, trying not to let on how flustered she was by his direct attention. It had been a long time since she’d felt so off-kilter. It must have been the commotion she’d walked in on and the warm wriggling lump burrowing into her arms.
Nothing more than that.
“Yes,” she said briskly. “Honey Baxter, senior auditor from the Bureau of Magical Compliance. We have an appointment this morning for me to begin looking over your well.”
He looked up at the ceiling and closed his eyes. She watched the rise and fall of his chest as he took a slow, measured breath.
“Get out,” he said, with his eyes still closed.
For a moment, Honey thought she must have misheard. But when he opened his eyes and looked at her, the flash of anger was unmistakable. He took one step toward her. “I said out.”
She thrust the goat toward him, and he grabbed ahold of it. “As I explained in my message, I need to audit your well. A wishing well left unchecked for twenty years is?—”
“Listen. I know you’re just doing your job. But we’re fine. No one touches the well. There is nothing you need to concern yourself with on my property.”
Honey knew this to be false. She crossed her arms. “That’s categorically untrue. Even if the well had somehow run dry, I noted a remarkably disjointed stream of magic in the short walk from my car to your front door. And at least one of your daughters knows it.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Ethan asked. “Are you accusing my kid of something?”
“It means all is not okay.” She took a breath and then pointed behind him. “Your children are late for school, there’s a miniature goat terrorizing your living room, and I'm not even going to start on the rabid chicken you’ve got wandering around your yard.”
“That’s none of your business.”
“I’m here because it is precisely my business.” Honey straightened her blazer, her confidence coming back along with the indignation. “When it comes down to it, I have a job to do, same as you, Mr. Hale. My time is valuable. The longer you stall, the more unstable the well becomes. Which, frankly, is irresponsible. If a residual wish slips out and attaches itself to your kids?—”
