Page 12 of The Spellreader and the Phoenix

His mate worked until an alarm went off once again. He closed the book he was working on, rose to his feet, and stretched. Should Rory have been prompting him to take breaks? Should he have food and water? Oh, was Rory being a terrible mate?

But the witch just smiled as Rory flew over and perched again on his shoulder, rubbing against his neck in apology. His hand came up, his fingers delicately stroking Rory’s feathers.

“Time to open the store. Come on.”

They headed out to the main shop, and his mate turned on the lights, looked around at the shop, and then went to flip the closed sign to open as he unlocked the door.

There was no immediate arrival of customers, so his mate settled at the counter, where he had a tall stool, and did some work on the computer. He answered emails and uploaded some of the photos from his phone. Rory realized he was sending spells to those witches he’d talked about earlier.

And apparently, one of them got annoyed, because when his mate answered the shop’s phone—still a landline with cords—there was yelling.

“Read for a Spell. Max speaking.”

Max! Rory’s mate had a name. Max was an excellent name.

“The spell doesn’t do what I want!” a voice snapped.

“What spell is that?” Max asked.

“The one you just sent me!” the man snarled.

Max sounded impatient when he said, “I send a lot of spells to a lot of people. Would you care to be more specific?”

The man let out an angry huff like Max was being unreasonable. Did he really expect Max to recognize his voice and have memorized what spell he’d asked for? That was very unreasonable.

“I’m Horace Humperdink. I requested a spell that would prevent someone from saying the word Tuesday!”

“I remember now, Mr. Humperdink. Well?” Max asked crisply.

“The spell you sent me doesn’t actually prevent someone from saying Tuesday! They only hesitate a bit. They can still get the word out!”

“Mr. Humperdink, I find existing spells, and they aren’t always exactly what a witch wants. Additionally, as I’m sure you know, coercion spells are closely monitored. I clearly outlined that in the document I sent you, and you accepted it and the spell.”

The man sputtered. “But that’s not acceptable! Why can’t you change it?”

“Because I’m a Spellreader, not a Spellsmith,” Max said in a bored tone.

“But if you can read it, why can’t you modify it?”

Beginning to sound really exasperated, Max enunciated bitingly, “Because I’m a Spellreader, not a Spellsmith.”

“That is not acceptable! I want a refund!” Horace’s voice was very shrill.

“As the document you signed clearly indicates, no refunds will be issued if you choose to accept the spell I provided, which you did. You can’t get a refund.”

“But it doesn’t do what I want!” the man yelled.

“It’s as close as you’re going to get with a non-regulated, non-coercive spell,” Max snapped. “You deemed it close enough when you accepted it, and if you’ve now changed your mind, that’s not my fault. You should have read the document more carefully.”

The man made an outraged noise. “I’m going to make a complaint against you!”

“You’re welcome to try,” Max said, sounding bored again. “If you want to trouble the Council with the fact that the spell you ordered, accepted as-is, and had delivered to you isn’t, in fact, the spell that you wanted, then I can’t stop you.”

It was clear that Max didn’t think the Council would care about such things. The combined council of witches and shifters usually dealt with big infractions, and Rory had to agree that Max had done nothing wrong.

There was silence on the line for a moment, and then Horace said, “I will never be using your services again!”

“I’m sure that will be a relief to both of us,” Max told him, hanging up the phone even as the man spluttered.