Page 77 of Woods of the Raven

Incredible.

I lived with magic constantly, but every now and then, still, it had the power to completely surprise me. The house, imbued with centuries of energy, was now—and I suspected had been for ages—sentient. Not in the way where we could have a conversation, but it would provide because I loved it and it loved me back.

“Thank you for sheltering and taking care of me,” I whispered to the house as I did every morning, normally before I got out of bed.

“And thank you for the coffee,” Lorne chimed in.

“Maybe I left that for you.”

He grunted. “Like you knew I only drink coffee in the morning. It took me a minute, but I get how things work now.”

“Oh? How do things work?”

“Well, I think you were explaining your need outside, hoping someone would come help you, yes?”

“Yes.”

“And I’m guessing you’re calling for an ancestor of yours?”

He was right and, as I’d noted before, quite intuitive.

“But maybe, instead, you could ask the house or cabin or… I think you need to ask what it likes to be called.”

“What it likes to be—”

“It was rude of me not to ask,” he said, talking to my home, not to me, “but in my defense, this is my first time speaking to a house.”

“Why are you?”

“Because I should know what it prefers to be called. You should tell me,” he said, directing that to me.

“Why would that matter?”

“What do you mean, why would that matter?” He was squinting at me. “If you address it correctly, I’m sure you’ll get better results when you ask for guidance. That’s just logical.”

“Logical?” Was he kidding?

“Yeah.” He took another sip from his mug.

“Okay, well, honestly, I have no idea what my house prefers to be called.”

“Then you should ask,” he reiterated, then drained his mug and poured himself more. “Seems like the polite thing.”

“I have milk and cream in the—”

“No, thank you. I drink this black.”

“Oh, that’s disgusting,” I assured him.

“Says you,” he muttered. “But about the house, I’m getting a very motherly vibe.”

“You are not. You don’t strike me as the vibe type.”

“You prefer feeling? I’m getting a very warm, nurturing feeling. It was the same the first time I was here. And how do you get it to smell like this?”

“Like what?”

“I dunno. Maybe it’s all the tea. But let’s talk to your dwelling.” When I raised an eyebrow, he said, “I’m being generic until we have the proper noun.” Then, “House? How do you feel about house?” He went quiet, waiting and listening. “Cabin?” Another pause. “Cottage?” he offered, going still again, but then suddenly grinning widely. “That’s it. That’s the one. Definitely cottage. Did you feel all the warm air and smell the lemon cake?”