Page 23

Margaret also hadn’t heard of Elliott having any kind of nephew. She hadn’t even known he had siblings. Truly, the only person she’d ever seen Elliott with, other than staff from the school, was his husband, Theodore, a quiet, thoughtful man who Margaret very much enjoyed serving mulled wine to during the school’s breaks when he came into town to visit.

“He popped into a shop,” Elliott said. “Very bright young man. You know, I’ve actually hired him as a professor at the school.”

“You don’t say,” Liza said thoughtfully. “What’s he teaching?”

Elliott chuckled. Apparently, this was a conversation that required sitting, as he took this moment to sit down in the empty chair at the table and waved for Margaret and Liza to make themselves comfortable.

“Well, I’ve been analyzing the gaps in our school’s instruction,” Elliott said, again glancing around. “You’d be shocked how lacking in fundamentals our alumni are. We get word that they’re all but incapable of basic skills, particularly in regard to science. They know the magic that will get them their results, but they’re woefully ill prepared when confronted with a basic scientific equation. I think it’s affecting our ability to produce proper potion masters.”

Margaret snorted. She’d often critiqued the witches and wizards who came out of Emberwind for what she called a general lack of critical thinking skills. Not that they were all like this, of course. Liza was a genius, after all. But take those girls in the pub yesterday. Perhaps Elliott was onto something.

“Anyway,” Elliott said. “So, I had the idea to have a non-magical educator step in and teach the kids the basics. And my nephew had just gotten his credential . . . it was a natural fit.”

“He’s . . . what?”

Margaret must not have heard Elliott correctly. Because how could he employ someone non-magical to teach at the most magical school in the country? The magical school that had rejected her for not being magical enough? She had to shake her head to remind herself that that wasn’t Elliott’s fault, but the notion stung just the same.

Liza must have been thinking the same thing.

“Wait, you brought in someone non-magical to teach at a magical school?” Liza asked, her voice revealing her dubious opinion. “But how . . . how will he, um . . .”

She cast a glance at Margaret that was both doubtful and guilty. Because Margaret could fill in the blanks. How could someone non-magical ever possibly survive that school? Or, for that matter, the neighboring village?

Margaret chose not to let the unintentional barb prick her. Besides, before she could react, Elliott had picked up the question.

“How will he integrate into our society? Well, you’ll find he’s quite adaptable, actually. Extremely personable. And he’s doing a great job as a teacher. Maybe too good of a job. Always lesson planning. Always off on his own. One of the reasons I came down today is to show him around a bit, introduce him to people.”

Liza and Margaret exchanged a look. Liza spoke first.

“How old is this nephew, Headmaster? Is he . . . our age?”

Elliott grinned. “Oh yes. Right around. I’m sure he’d love to meet you both. And maybe you could entice him out of his shell? Introduce him around to your many admirers?”

Margaret laughed and waved her hand. “Oh, stop.”

“I’m sure he’d adore you both,” Elliott said, eyes twinkling. “Especially you, Margaret—”

Before Elliott could finish the sentence, though, there was a squeal from behind them, the kind Margaret associated with newborn dragons who hadn’t quite come into their roars.

“Oh, Mr. Birchwood! Mr. Birchwood, you forgot your cauldron!”

The voice that shouted those words was shrill enough to make Margaret turn around. She caught sight of the door of Sal’s Sensational Scents and Stirs flung open, a figure hidden behind the heavy wood.

Margaret sucked in a breath. Because even before the man stepped fully outside of the door, revealing himself, she knew who he was. After all, even without knowing his last name, there was no mistaking the blue eyes that sparked even from across the road.

Silas.

She watched him step out onto the road, chased after by one of the shopkeeper’s daughters, a young woman blushing so furiously that she might have been experiencing the aftereffects of an overdone warming charm.

“Ah,” Elliott said as Liza giggled beside Margaret, following her gaze. “My nephew. Silas Birchwood.”

Margaret watched him with shock and fascination. After last night, she’d been sure he would’ve run from the village and never returned—at least, never returned to see her. And now, here he was. His dark hair was mussed, a pair of glasses was askew on his nose, and he easily shouldered the girl’s heavy cauldron.

“Looks like he’s having no trouble meeting people,” Margaret said, not jealous but also not not jealous.

Liza elbowed Margaret, making her cry out as she jumped up out of her chair. This drew Silas’s eyes, which widened at the sight of Margaret.

“Wait—do you already know my nephew?” Elliott asked, suddenly beaming as he looked from Margaret to Silas. “How delightful! Silas, I didn’t realize you were getting to know the villagers.”