“His aunt bought those at some fancy auction,” Ryder says, noticing me studying the trio of abstract art canvases on the wall. “They cost a small fortune. Rowan hates them.”
I laugh softly, wondering what kind of art Rowan would have chosen for himself.
There’s a tall glass case housing several chess sets. A few knick-knacks sit on the dresser, along with a prestigious-lookingplaque that appears to be an award from Mablemyer. Everything is neat and tidy, as expected.
A flash of color catches my eye as I pass the wastebasket. There are only a few scraps of paper in it, along with what appears to be a scrunched photo.
Morbidly curious, I retrieve it. My lungs paralyze when I unfold it, and my heart feels like it stops.
Rowan and Keira stare back at me, looking beautiful in what can only be an engagement photo. I imagined them, but seeing the real thing is so much worse.
It must have been in the room when Rowan returned. He threw it away, though. It’s better to find it in the trash than taped to a mirror.
Glad neither Ryder nor Rowan notices me snooping, I let the photo fall back into the wastebasket.
We have more important things to think of right now.
Rowan shuffles through a wooden nightstand organizer with his beak. With each passing second, his movements become more frantic.
“Did you leave it there?” I hurry over. “Is it missing?”
The only thing worse than Rowan being an owl again is not being able to talk to him. We must find the amulet.
He turns to me, flapping his wings, extremely ruffled.
“Do you think someone took it?” I ask. “It sounds like there are a lot of people in this house, after all.”
“Everyone has worked here for more than a decade,” Ryder says. “I can’t imagine someone would swipe it.”
Then what happened to it?
Panic rises in my chest, impossible to push back this time.
I know Rowan is right there, but it feels like he’s gone. It’s just like when he turned into a man and my owl friend disappeared, except in reverse. And to be honest, I much prefer Rowan’s man form.
I press my lips together, refusing to break down. The rain pattering on the windows gives me away, though.
Rowan studies me, looking helpless.
“I’m fine.” I take a deep breath, willing the words to be true. “Let’s talk to Anna again.”
Anna doesn’t knowwhat happened to the amulet, so we have no choice but to ask Rowan’s aunt if she’s seen it—which means telling Rowan’s aunt that he’s an owl again.
We wait for her in the sitting room. The couches are fussy, uncomfortable, and look like they came from some French museum.
Rowan perches on the armrest beside me. He shifts back and forth, unable to stay still for very long. I almost reach out to pet him, but that feels weird now.
“Thanks, Arista,” Ryder says into his phone. “I’ll see you soon.”
“Did she let you have the morning off?” I ask when the elf ends the call.
“She did.”
I feel better having him here while we try to navigate all this, especially since he’s so comfortable with Rowan’s family—and I am sonotcomfortable with them.
Mrs. Neilfellow enters the room with Anna fifteen minutes later, her hair perfect and makeup done. Apparently, that’s what we were waiting on.
She stops dead in her tracks when she sees Rowan, gasping softly. Her hand rises to her chest as if she must protect her heart, and she whispers a horrified, “No.”
