Page 24 of The Spellreader and the Phoenix

In the bathroom, Rory set the clothes on the little counter, figured out how to work the shower, and climbed in. He spent several minutes reacquainting himself with how his human limbs worked. Thankfully, it really was mostly instinct in both directions, but there was an adjustment period if it had been a while.

Rory didn’t let himself stay under the water for long—even though the hot water was glorious—because he didn’t want Max to be late for work. His mate had only known Rory was human for a few minutes, and that was too soon for him to have formed much of an opinion on him. (Rory was Rory no matter what, but witches didn’t always grasp that right away. He supposed it was very different if you only had one self.)

He turned the water off, stepped out of the shower, and allowed flame to flicker over his body until he was perfectly dry once more. He tugged on the clothing that Max had left for him: a t-shirt that said “Meh.” and sweatpants. The pants were too big, but they had a tie at their waist, so Rory was able to secure them. He rolled up the hems twice.

The mirror was foggy, so he wiped at it with his hand and then looked at himself. His white blond hair was flying in all directions, but it generally did that, so he didn’t make more than a cursory effort to smooth it. His eyes were bright, like amber or honey. He wasn’t sure how old he looked. He’d never totally understood human ages, though he supposed that when your lives were short, you wanted to measure and make every moment count.

Rory wanted to make every moment count with Max, though, and that wasn’t going to happen in the bathroom!

He grinned at himself and then ventured out into the main area of the apartment. Max was on his phone, but he looked up when Rory emerged from the bathroom in a puff of steam.

“I forgot today was Sunday,” Max said.

Rory blinked at him, unsure why this was important.

“I was going to take you to this great thrift store I know," Max explained, “but they close at five on Sundays like I do. We can go to one of the bigger stores. There are a few places that are open later.”

Rory had already heard Max’s opinion on big box stores compared to small, independently owned businesses.

“Could we go tomorrow before you open instead? Would that work?” Rory asked.

Max blinked at him, looking taken aback for a moment, and then he agreed, “Yeah, that would work. You’re sure you don’t mind waiting?”

“You’re sure you don’t mind me borrowing your clothes that long?” Rory countered.

Max smiled. “Nah, you’re fine. Uh, did you want to stay up here?”

“Not really?” Rory admitted sheepishly. “I’d rather hang out with the books. The other books, I mean.”

Max’s apartment had multiple shelves full of books, but it couldn’t compete with an entire bookshop.

This made Max smile fully. “Come on, then.”

So Max, Rory, and Nōwē trooped out of the apartment and down to the shop, which Max duly opened.

As Rory had learned, Sundays usually started slow, and this proved to be true once again. Max checked his emails, and Rory couldn’t read them because while he’d had an excellent view perched on Max’s shoulder, it didn’t work as well as a person with his feet on the ground. Rory was aware that Max wasn’t a people person—and right now, Rory was a people.

Max had agreed to let Alex come and work at the shop, though, so he wasn’t categorically opposed to people. Rory needed to figure out how to be a useful person, or at least non-objectionable. He wasn’t going to ask Max for any unreasonable spells or ruin any books. But what else could he do to make it clear that he was a good type of person instead of a bad one?

He should probably not hover.

Rory wandered around the bookshop, taking it all in from his new perspective. He was much taller as a human, but he couldn’t fly around like a bird, which meant he lost some of his previous vantage points. There were shelves everywhere, and now that he was stuck walking on the floor, he couldn’t easily see over them. But he could actually pick the books up now and read them, which was a definite advantage.

He liked to see what humans were writing. They were very creative. He wondered which of them were actually witches or shifters posing as normal humans and integrating into a regular life. Most witches and shifters did so to a degree, but were there those who abandoned that other part of themselves entirely to pose as a normal human?

Not being a bird again was impossible for Rory to imagine; he didn’t think he’d be very good at pretending that part of him didn’t exist—but he did sometimes live as one or the other for years at a time, depending on the situation. Maybe it wasn’t so different for the others. If you gained acceptance and safety, was it worth hiding part of yourself?

He found a whole shelf of queer fiction, which delighted him. Over the centuries, he’d sometimes found it proudly displayed, and at other times, it had been completely forbidden. He was glad that they’d arrived at another time where it was encouraged, at least in some places. Max had made more than plain that he was very accepting—and wouldn’t tolerate people who weren’t.

The bell at the door jangled, and Rory peeked around the shelves to see that a family had walked in, what looked like a mother, father, young girl, and baby the father was wearing in a pouch on their chest. (Humans were very clever in some of their inventions. Also, sometimes terrible. But they made good things, too.)

“Hello, Mr. Max!” the young girl said cheerfully.

“Hello,” Max said, staring gravely down at her. “Did your friend like their books?”

“They loved them!” the little girl declared with rapturous enthusiasm. “Now I’m here to get a book to read to my brother.” She pointed at the baby and then leaned closer to confide to Max, “Did you know babies can’t read? So I’ll have to do it for him until he learns.”

Max nodded very seriously, though Rory could see the amusement at the corner of his lips. “That’s very generous of you. You make an excellent big sister.”