She has all our notes, and she’s no stranger to tea. It will probably be fine.
“I’m happy to help.” I can tell from the curious glint in her eyes that she wants to ask me what’s going on, but she somehow knows I don’t want to talk about it in front of my parents.
“Is Rowan going to pick you up?” Mom asks.
“Not this morning,” I say, highly aware of his clothes in the tote bag. “I’m going to take the bike.”
But then I realize if I do, Nadine will have to walk.
Waving her hand when she sees the concerned look on my face, she says, “It’s fine. I’ll call the livery stable and request a pickup.”
“You’re sure?”
“Very sure.” She looks pleased, making me think she’s already plotting a way to make sure Jax is her driver.
“We need to look into getting our own transportation,” Dad says. “It’s been a while, but I can manage a horse and cart.”
As they discuss the options, Mom flits about the kitchen.
Five minutes later, Nadine follows me out the door.
I quickly finish my slice of blueberry bread. “I eat so much better now that you guys are here.”
“I was wondering how you were managing on your own.”
“I lit a skillet on fire once,” I admit.
She laughs, walking into the back with me to get the bike. “What’s in the bag?”
I glance behind us to make sure we’re alone. “Rowan’s clothes and wand. He accidentally turned himself into an owl again.”
Nadine stares at me, her mouth open and her eyes wide.
I quickly add, “Ansel should be able to turn him back.”
I hope.
What if he can’t? What if Rowan’s truly stuck this time?
A cloud rolls over the sun, moving in too quickly.
Nadine looks up, concerned. “Are you okay?”
Swallowing, I nod. “Yeah. I should go, though.”
“I’ll see you in a bit.”
I hand her the shop keys and roll the bike to the lane.
Ansel opensthe door after I knock for three frantic minutes.
The mage looks rough. His dark hair is disheveled, standing up in tufts. He needs to shave, and his eyes are tired. Also, his T-shirt is wrinkled, and it appears to be inside out.
“What could you possibly need at six in the morning?” he demands. “Come back at nine. I’m going back to bed.”
I grab the door before he can close it. “Nine?Must be nice to open your shop at ten.”
“Why are you here?” Ansel demands, not keen to discuss his lazy morning ways. “Whatever you need can wait until?—”
