Page 97 of The Spellreader and the Phoenix

“Got it,” Alex said, their expression solemn. “No one’s going to hear it from me. Promise.”

Rory leaned into Alex again, trilling softly. He’d never doubted them.

On Sunday, Max got the call from Peter that Mr. Jones and his familiar had passed away. Rory was sad, but he was quite sure that Mr. Jones and his kitty had been ready to go. They’d had very long lives, and their bodies had been reaching their limits. Humans had finite end points. Unless they bonded with a mythical shifter, of course. And that was a conversation he definitely needed to have with Max—when Max could actually understand him.

That evening, they cuddled up on the couch. Since Rory couldn’t read in this form, Max had taken to either reading to him or putting on a movie or show they could watch together. Since Rory enjoyed spending time with Max regardless, he thoroughly approved of this plan and didn’t really care what they did.

Rory was basically full-sized now, his talons large enough and sharp enough that Max always eyed them a little askance. He was now wearing long-sleeved shirts daily and had cast a strength charm on them so that there was no chance that Rory could harm him—or destroy his entire shirt collection.

Max seemed perfectly comfortable when Rory was perched on a blanket on the couch cuddled up next to him. Rory thought that pets with Max’s lovely fingers was perhaps one of the greatest things that had ever been invented.

“Peter said that he or the lawyer would be in touch about the next steps for the books,” Max explained. “The lawyer is a witch, apparently—and there was tone when Peter talked about him, so I think there’s something going on there.”

Rory trilled a noise of inquiry.

“I mean, I don’t know anything for sure, but lawyers are often considered to be not great people by others.” Max shrugged. “There are entirely decent ones, but lawyers often have a reputation for being ruthless and financially motivated. And if someone you care about has just died, it might be the worst time to have to talk to someone like that—or someone you think might be like that, you know?”

Rory nodded and tucked himself further into Max’s side. When Rory had been waiting to find his mate, each moment of waiting hadn’t actually been terrible, but if he let himself think too much about the idea of always waiting, that was where the distress lay.

Perhaps Peter was just worried that the lawyer was terrible or was imagining how unpleasant all the tasks of dealing with Mr. Jones’ death could be. That would only be made worse by a lawyer being obstructive.

But if there was a mythical being with the gift to make people be nicer to one another, Rory had never met them. Given what the world could be like, Rory wouldn’t blame them for being in hiding. Or maybe the Magic had judged it was an impossible task.

“Think of how different everything will be for Peter and all the staff. Will the person who inherits keep them all on?” Max wondered. “And will they really let us have access to all the books like Mr. Jones planned? Will someone contest the will? Or will we get to keep the books but have to move them all?”

Rory nudged him with his head, rubbing against his arm.

Max sighed. “Yes, I know I’m borrowing trouble. Mr. Jones’s collection is something that we’ve been trying to get access to since my mom was young. I feel like I really need to do it right, you know? And while I’ve got the snark down pat, I’m not sure that I’m ready to deal with an asshole lawyer. Hopefully, it’s simply Peter not getting along with them. Or maybe you can be very charming.”

Rory trilled. The only person he wanted to be charming for was Max.

Max ran a finger from the top of his head down his back, stroking the feathers.

“You’re very charming with what appears to be very little effort. You’re personable and friendly. The rest of us should probably take lessons.”

Rory preened a little; he couldn’t help himself. He liked that his mate admired this about him.

“You’re glorious like this,” Max assured him, fingers moving rhythmically. “But it’s a little harder to understand you.”

Rory sang out that if witches and normal people only listened a little harder, maybe they could actually understand other species.

Nōwē meowed to share her opinion that people were fools and never listened well.

Max’s fingers rubbed at the perfect spot at the back of Rory’s neck.

“I’m not sure I’m cut out to pick up another language, but I can try. I mean, I’m not sure I’ll ever get words, but I’m pretty sure that was bird for ‘pay attention to tone, you fool.’ How’d I do?”

Trilling happily, Rory leaned into Max further.

Max laughed. “Yeah, Nōwē uses that one a lot, too. Are you ready for bed?”

Rory chirped an assent, and Max held out his arm so that Rory could hop on and be carried into the bedroom. Rory’s wingspan was now such that it was becoming difficult to fly inside. Max had made a whole nest-like pile of blankets for Rory on half of the bed because he certainly wasn’t going to fit in Red’s little box on the bedside table.

Rory settled down, and a few minutes later, Max reappeared from the bathroom, looking freshly scrubbed, dressed in his pajamas. Nōwē hopped up onto the bed and settled at the foot.

Max switched out the light and pulled the covers up over himself.

“Goodnight, Rory.”