“In my world people don’t turn into . . . into this.” She indicated him with her hand. His feathers definitely were shorter now. He’d shrunk a little. “People don’t fly unless they have a glider or some sort of metal contraption with an engine designed to help them. Nobody tries to murder someone through magic. Nobody has mysterious castles masquerading as empty fields.”
A careful knock interrupted her.
“It’s your room,” Nassar murmured.
“Come in,” she called.
A man entered, pushing a small trolley with a teakettle, two cups, a dish of sugar, a ewer of cream and a platter with assorted cookies. As he passed her, she saw a short sword in a sheath at his waist. “Your sister suggested tea, sir.”
“Very thoughtful of her.”
The man left the trolley, smiled at Grace, and departed.
Grace poured two cups of tea.
“I suppose in your world people don’t drink tea either?” he asked.
“We drink tea,” she said with a sigh. “We just don’t always have servants armed with swords to bring it. Cream?”
“Sugar and lemon, please.” Nassar had returned to his normal size. The feathers were mere fur now, and his face was bare and completely human.
“What’s happening with your feathers?”
“I’m consuming them to replenish some of my energy. Transformations such as this are difficult even for me.” He sank into a chair, took a cup from her with furry fingers, and sipped from it. “Perfect. Thank you.”
“I live to serve.”
His lips curved into a familiar half-smile. “Somehow I deeply doubt it.”
Grace sank into the other chair and sipped shockingly hot tea, liberally whitened by cream. Liquid heat flowed through her. His magic brushed her again, but she had flown over miles bathed in it and she accepted his touch without protest. She was so very tired. “This is a dream. I’ll wake up, and all of this will be gone. And I’ll go back to my quiet little job.”
“What is it you do?”
Grace shrugged. He knew, of course. His clan had been keeping tabs on her family for years. When you own something, you want to pay attention to its maintenance. He probably knew what size of underwear she wore and how she preferred her steak. “Why don’t you tell me?”
“You’re a headhunter. You find jobs for others. Do you like it?”
“Yes. It’s boring at times and stressful, but I get to help people.”
“You didn’t know about your family’s debt, did you?” he asked.
“No.” She refilled her cup.
“When did you find out?”
“Three days ago.”
“Was it sudden?”
“Yes,” she admitted. “I always knew about magic. I was born able to feel it. At first I was told I was a very sensitive child, and then, once I was old enough to realize I needed to keep it to myself, more complicated explanations followed. I live in a world of very small magics. I can sense if I’ll miss the bus. In school, I could usually foretell my grade on tests, but I could never predict anything else accurately. If I concentrate very hard, I can scare animals. A dog once tried to chase me, and I was frightened and sent it running.”
She drank again. “Small things, mostly useless. I thought that all magic users were like me. Working their little powers in secret. I never imagined people could fly in the open. Or walk through crowded airports without being seen. My mother is a fabric buyer. My uncle’s a mechanic who really likes weapons. My dad’s normal in every way. My mother and he divorced when I was eighteen. He runs a shift at a tyre repair plant.”
Grace drank more tea. Her head was fuzzy. She was so comfortable and warm in the soft chair. “When Uncle Gerald told me this half-baked story about blood debt, I didn’t believe him at first.”
“What convinced you?”
“He was terrified. Uncle Gerald is like a rock in the storm: always cool under pressure. I’ve never seen him so off balance.”