“I wonder if Kit’s magic altered the viscosity of yours,” Ansel ponders. “You know, all those pixie dust particles acting as a thickening agent. You said it’s always thick, but has it always been thisgoopy?”
“You’re really stuck on this, aren’t you?” Rowan says.
“Anything would stick to this.” Ansel pokes the magic with his wand again. “Look at it.”
Rowan rolls his eyes.
“I wonder what Kit’s magic looks like now that you’re bonded?” Ansel says. “I should have kept the pendant Russell was filling.”
“Do you want to draw more?” I ask.
“No,” Rowan says sternly.
Ansel, however, looks torn. I have no doubt the desire to discover how Rowan’s magic is affecting mine is burning inside him like an angry fire. But finally, he shakes his head. “Probably shouldn’t.”
“If you can’t manipulate our magic, I think we’re done for the day.” Rowan ends the draw.
“Let me keep that.” Ansel extends his hand toward the partially filled amulet. “I’ll study it and see what I can figure out.”
“It doesn’t sound like there’s much point. We’re not separating our magic anytime soon.”
“Yes, but I want to figure out what’s wrong with you.”
Less than impressed, Rowan sets the amulet on the workbench. “Knock yourself out—but don’t even think about charging me a consulting fee.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Ansel continues to study Rowan’s magic through the magnifying glass. Absently, he says, “I’m going to put it under a microscope.”
“How very human of you.” Rowan gestures for me to head toward the door. “Thank you for your help.”
Ansel mumbles an absent goodbye, engrossed in his project.
Rosalie is helping several customers when we emerge from the workshop, so we wave and then head outside.
I’m not sure what to say to Rowan now that we’re alone. I think he knew this first experiment didn’t have a high chance of success, but I don’t think either of us realized that our magic merged quite so thoroughly. That’s not what has me worried now, though.
“You aren’t sick, are you?” I ask. “You’d tell me, right?”
“I swear I’m not. My magic has always been like that.”
“Why, though?”
“Everyone’s a little bit different, Kit. Different genetic makeup. It probably has something to do with heritage. Perhaps if we were to draw Ash or Gideon’s magic, we would see theirs is a little thicker, too.”
“Does anyone draw high fae magic?”
“I don’t believe so. Their supply isn’t limited like mages, or at least the threshold is so high they rarely reach its limit, so there’s no need.”
“Maybe we just think the Neilfellows are high fae. Perhaps your magic looks weird because you’re actually a leprechaun.”
Rowan laughs, genuinely amused by the idea. “Ash would die.”
“Just a minute. Could that be it? Is there a different fae race in the Neilfellow line, changing your magic?” When Rowan looks like he’s going to protest, I quickly add, “Not recently. Several generations back. So far back that it’s not noticeable in the waythe magic behaves, but enough that it might change the look of it?”
Rowan furrows his brow, allowing himself to contemplate it. “I suppose.”
“Any idea what kind of magic is purple?”
“No idea.”
