“I suspect they must be moving at night.”
“Let’s hope so.”
“Why do you think they want to be in the tea garden so badly?”
He shakes his head, flummoxed. “They love flowering bushes, and Laverna planted a whole slew of them, but I don’t think that would be enough of a draw.” Dad sits on a stool across the counter from me. “Maybe it’s your magic. I suspect you’ve been using a fair amount of it since you’ve been here.”
My magic has been all over the place since I arrived in Moss Hollow. If I’m not glowing or spreading summer joy, I’m calling in thunderstorms and sending tourists running. A “fair amount” is probably a modest estimation.
“I’ve been a little unstable,” I admit.
“They’re drawn to pixie magic—our summer magic in particular. But I don’t know. It doesn’t seem like enough. You don’t have any foxgloves or ferns. The trees aren’t even hollow—they had to drill holes in them themselves.”
“They’re drilling holes in my trees?” I demand.
“And Laverna’s magic never lured them in,” he muses instead of answering me.
“Then why would mine?”
He rubs his chin, thinking. “Laverna was in a stable place in her life. When we’re young, our emotions can be…bigger, I suppose. And our magic is tied so closely to our feelings. Happiness, disappointment, fear…all will create a spike that I suppose could be appealing to them.”
“I’ve been a little homesick, too.” I admit.
He offers me a sympathetic smile. “Called a few storms?”
“A few aweek.”
He laughs, his magic bright and happy. “All right, here’s the plan. We’re going to try a simple lure first—not an official relocation, since you don’t want to get the Preservation Society involved.”
“What are you thinking?”
“We can try to move them to a remote place in the woods, but the easiest solution, and the one I predict will be the most successful, is coaxing them to relocate to the cottage. I suspect they’ll end up back here within a few months if we move them away from your magic.”
“My backyard? Is that an option?”
“Certainly, unless you plan on entertaining humans regularly?”
“I have no plans for that.”
He smiles. “All right, then. Go ahead and keep the tea garden closed for now—you don’t want anyone stumbling across them. I’ll begin prepping a new plot in your backyard. Do you care where?”
“Not really. Just…do your thing.”
“I’ll need to make a whole passel of chocolate almonds,” he says absently. “And nasturtiums, because they love them. It’s a little late to plant seeds. Hopefully, the garden center has seedlings. Nasturtiums hate to be transplanted, though. Poor things. I might have to go with marigolds.”
“You don’t buy the almonds anymore?”
“They seem to like homemade best.”
“Who wouldn’t?”
He nods, standing. “It’s a nice morning, and I fancy a walk. I’m going to go see what your mother is up to and get started.”
“Would you like a cup of tea to go?”
“I would, yes.” He nods toward the pastry case. “And maybe one of those turnover things there.”
I glance towards the door. “Those are yesterday’s. Ryder should be here with the new order any minute now.”
