Finally.
“Seriously, why do you know that man?” I ask Ansel.
“I made bad choices in my twenties.”
“No kidding,” Ryder laughs.
Getting back on track, I say, “Seven years ago, when all this started, Rowan was trying to turn himself into a gryphon. Ryder confirmed that the feather was a gryphon feather. Did Rowan’s shifter magic interfere during the metamorphosis? Is that why he turned into an owl instead? Is he an owl shifter?”
“That feather was actually from a gryphon?” Ansel asks, startled. “That cheap one he bought online? He said it was an owl.”
“I think he assumed it was an owl feather when he turned into…” I gesture toward Rowan and lamely finish, “An owl.”
“It was a gryphon,” Ryder says firmly. “If it had been an owl, we would have been looking for an owl. Marshall and I spent months trying to find a connection between Rowan and gryphons.”
Ansel runs his hands through his hair, disheveling the soft black strands. “Rowan was working with a high level of magic. Level five metamorphoses were only possible in theory until he achieved it, and now we must assume there was shifter magic in the mix, which complicates it further. I have no idea what happened. Why would his shifter side lie dormant for twenty-some years?”
“Could it have been repressed?” Ryder asks, his voice off.
Ansel scratches his chin, slowly nodding. “I mean, that’s the most logical conclusion. But what kind of monster works that magic on a child? The spell is known to be incredibly painful.”
A cold chill travels down my spine. “Maybe someone who doesn’t want shifter magic associated with their prestigious high fae last name?”
Ryder groans, hating it as much as I do.
“You think Rowan’s aunt and uncle repressed it?” Ansel asks grimly. “I suppose it does seem possible.”
I glance at Rowan, wishing he could talk. What is he going through right now, all alone in his head?
“Say he was repressed,” Ryder says. “Do you think the spell is wearing off? Is that why he was able to change into an owl without his wand this morning?”
“I suspect the first metamorphosis started breaking it down, but the wall was still in place, preventing him from changingback. Our reversal might have obliterated it altogether. In fact, it must have, considering it was unhindered enough to grab onto Kit’s magic and form a mate bond.”
“Is there any way you can check? “I ask.
“You need someone who’s skilled with both high fae and repression magic. I’m afraid I’m neither.”
The shop door opens, and Rosalie calls a greeting to Ansel from the front room.
He glances at the clock. “We have to open soon. Let’s meet as soon as Rowan’s aunt returns with his amulet. Once he can communicate with us, we’ll figure out how to return him to normal.”
“I need to get back to the tea shop anyway,” I say reluctantly.
“I’ll walk with you,” Ryder volunteers.
“You can go out through the back if you want.” Ansel gestures to the door that leads to the small garden behind the rock shop.
Outside, steady rain falls onto the patio pavers.
“You should probably ride in my tote bag so your feathers don’t get all wet,” I say to Rowan. Then I set the bag on a table near the door and open it.
He flies over and walks into the bag, looking miserable.
“We’ll see you tonight, Ansel,” I say, my heart hurting for Rowan.
The sorcerer grunts as we leave. As an afterthought, he says, “Take an umbrella. You can bring it back later.”
Ryder grabs one from the stand, and then we step outside. We’re quiet as we walk through the garden and into the park, listening to the sound of water pelting the umbrella, staying mostly dry except when a breeze blows the rain sideways.
