Excerpt
Christmas Interrupted:
He pointed at the hand-painted chest with beach scenes. "Rowan painted that. He was quite an artist."
It was Mallory's favorite piece in the apartment. "I loved walking past his shop. His displays always brightened my day."
"That shop was his pride and joy," Strother said with a nod. "It was his way of bringing a little more magic to the island. He was always filling the shop's windows with little treasures. Rowan was such a light in this town. Killing him was like shooting down the sun."
Mallory felt a breeze brush across her face, like fingers against her cheek, a hint of sandalwood warming the room.
There's still time, a voice whispered in her ear.
Surfing the Swale:
"I know you have no reason to trust me, Flint, but I'm asking you to. And I'm also asking that you not ask me about the bus ride yet. I'll answer every question you have, but just not yet, okay?"
He pulled his hands out of his pockets and sat down on the bed. He picked at the blue quilt on the bed, but he met my gaze. That was a start, I guess. Something my asshole brother could never do.
"Why should I trust you?" I snapped, glaring at him. "Because you've been so honest up to this point? You lied about prison. You lied about what happened on that bus. What else isn't true? Zindel?"
I'd been screwed over by so many people. I didn't trust anyone.
Zin bowed his head and sighed. "That's fair." He looked up finally, gritting his teeth. "Look, there was a reason I was on that bus, but I can't tell you that yet. What I can tell you though is I need your help. I need someone with your—uh, rather unique talent to surf the swale for me. To stop something that happened almost year ago. You're my last hope, Flint."
Speechless in Seattle:
"Free?" he cried, shaking ashes out of his dark hair. "But…you're b-bound to me."
The winged cat rolled over in mid-air and stretched cream-speckled paws, arching her back as she clawed at the air.
Not anymore, Zip purred. You spent so much time perfecting diction and crafting the spell, little wizard. You forgot about the words.
"What are you talking about?" He glared at Zip as she licked her front paw. "I crafted my spell from the exact words in the Trenerry grimoire. And I didn't stutter!"
The pit of his stomach dropped into his feet. What had he missed?
Zip sighed. That's the problem, little wizard. You forgot the first rule of magic: update all spells.
He cringed, bristling at the smug, little furball. He wouldn't be lectured about magic by a flying cat.
A thousand years ago, each magical word was precise and had one meaning, Zip continued, rubbing against his elbow, her throaty purr soothing. Today, those words have many meanings.
He sighed and rubbed his forehead. "So, what did I cast?"
You didn't call House Trenerry's magic into your staff, said Zip, you set free every familiar in Seattle.
