Changeling (Sorcery and Society Book 1)(36)

“Why are you bothering to talk to me, right now?” I asked, studiously ignoring the “kitchen maid” comment. “We haven’t had a proper conversation since you were nine years old and you knocked me off your tree swing.”

He looked deeply affronted. “I most certainly did not knock you off of a tree swing.”

“You snatched my book out of my hands, pulled my pigtails and shoved me off of your tree swing. I landed on my rump in the dirt,” I exclaimed. When he continued to shake his head in disbelief, I lifted my hair to show him the tiny scar at my temple, near my hairline. “I hit my head on the way down. I had to get three stitches!”

He moved closer, and I tilted my scarred side toward him. Recognition passed over his face, and his mouth dropped open. “I remember that. You were in my swing. And it was my book, by the way. A copy of Bartleman’s Digest of Magical Fungi. I left it on the swing when I went inside for some water!” he protested. “And as I remember it, you sprang up from the dirt, grabbed the book and hit me over the head with it.”

“I did not!” I scoffed.

“You did!” he protested. “You busted my nose! It gushed blood, the sight of which made you hyper-ventilate, pass out and whack your head on the swing.” My eyes narrowed and he scooted his chair closer to mine.

“Here I’ll prove it. You see this break in the bridge of my nose?” He pointed to the tiniest little bump on his long, noble nose. “You and that bloody book did this. My parents could have repaired it without any effort. But Mother thought that it served as a reminder not to start a fight unless I was sure I would win it. And my father was so angry with me for ‘bullying a girl half my size’ that he charmed it so I couldn’t repair it later. ”

I started to giggle.

“It was humiliating!” he exclaimed, which made me laugh that much harder. “I had to go to school with a mangled nose and tell the other boys that I started a fight with an older boy in the park and he cursed me! You ruined my otherwise perfect profile!”

He turned his head toward the light, as if to demonstrate his “deformity.” I wiped at the tears gathering at the corners of my eyes. “I don’t remember any of this. I just remember one day, you stopped talking to me and Mum told me it was my fault for fighting with you. You turned and walked away every time I came anywhere near you.”

“I was embarrassed,” he said. “I didn’t want to admit a sickly little girl got the drop on me. And I was mad at you. Ignoring you became a habit. And as I got older, my parents encouraged me to stay away from you girls anyway. I think they saw how Mary looked at me and it made them nervous.”

“So you’ve always known how she feels about you?” I squeaked, feeling irritated on my sister’s behalf. It was one thing to recognize that Mary’s behavior was forward, it was another to mock her unrequited love.

“Of course, I know. I’m not stupid, either,” he said, pointedly. “I’ve never responded, in any way. I’ve never given her any cause to think I felt the same about her.”

“Well, I don’t think it’s helping,” I told him. “Because every time you so much as thank her for a plate of toast, she takes it as a marriage proposal.”

“What does she think of all of this?” he asked, gesturing in the direction of the school building.

“I don’t know,” I lied. “Your mother has forbidden me to speak to them.”

“And you abided by that? You are being a good girl.”

“Your mother scares me,” I told him. “And don’t look at me that way, she scares you, too.”

“Well, you scare her,” he told me. “Mother doesn’t like having her entire outlook on the world changed in a few moments.” He paused and fidgeted. “It’s not that I don’t want you here. Or for you to have a better life. I just hate to see you pulled into something you don’t fully understand. I hate to see the danger to my family, too.”

“I don’t have a choice,” I told him. “I can’t go back to my old life. These things that I can do, they put me in danger. They put my family in danger. This is the safest situation for me right now.”

And just then, the garden bird with its strange blue-green feathers flapped down next to me on the bench and twittered rather indignantly. It was as if it didn’t appreciate being left behind at school and being forced to fly all the way across town to peck at my dress, searching for crumbs.

“Why are you following me?” I grumbled. “Either you stop following me, or I will turn you into a tiny feather-duster.”

“What are you mumbling about?” Owen asked.

“This bird,” I said, pointing to the winged interloper. “He’s been tapping at my bedroom window since I moved to the Lavender Room, tapping and trying to get in. I thought maybe he has a nest in the house, but then he followed me to school, and kept tapping at my window here. And now, here he is.”

Owen smiled at me, as if I were something precious and foolish all at once. “When did he first approach you?”

“Before my window?” I asked. “That first day after my moving upstairs at Raven’s Rest. He came to the garden and stayed on this bench while I read.”

“And did you offer it something to eat?”