“Get off, you boggart brain!” Nelle roared, wrenching the wyvern over her shoulder and earning more than a few scratches for her pains. The wyvern brayed again and ducked its ugly head under her arm like a frightened puppy. Nelle gathered her feet under her but tripped on her skirts and sat down hard again, all the while craning her neck to search for the monster in the shadows overhead.
The sudden creak of footsteps on stair treads drew her attention. Still kneeling on the floor, arms full of quivering wyvern, she turned in time to see a robed and hooded figure descend heavily through the opening of the tower stair, one silvery hand pressed to the stone wall for support. As soon as his head came into view, he paused and threw back his hood.
A pair of pale gray eyes caught Nelle’s gaze, staring down at her through strands of long white hair. Pale stubble lined a strong jaw but could not disguise the dense network of scars across his face. Recently dried blood crusted a thin cut along his right cheekbone.
“Miss Beck.” The voice rumbled in a deep baritone just short of a growl.
“Mage Silveri,” Nelle responded.
The wyvern chortled and flared its crest.
The mage’s gaze moved slowly and steadily over her, noting the globs of oatmeal staining her gown and clumped in the loose hair hanging over her shoulder. His expression was impossible to read through the scars, but the glint in his eye might be anger or might just as easily be amusement.
“Is it possible, Miss Beck,” he said in a tone of great patience, “that I might one morning wake to find you not threatening my wyvern’s life and limbs?”
“What?” Nelle looked down at the wyvern blinking googly eyes up at her and quickly pushed it off her lap. “No, it’s not the worm! Not this time.” She yanked her skirts out from under her knees and, fully aware of the ungainly picture she made, scrambled to her feet. “We’ve got a visitor,” she said, pointing to the rafters above. “Another one of your spittin’ faerie beasts got through the wards and attacked me!”
“Oh?” The mage’s brow rose. He peered into the rafters, then, seeking a better angle of vision, descended the last few stairs to the ground floor, head tipped back, eyes searching. “What kind of beast exactly? I see noth—”
Before he could finish, there was a flash of red and another hideous screech. “Watch out!” Nelle grabbed the mage’s arm and yanked him roughly to one side just as a winged missile streaked over his head. He staggered, wrapping an arm around her waist as he strove to catch his balance. A rush of heat flooded Nelle’s body, but that was simply excitement over the flying monster. Nothing to do with the mage’s proximity. Nothing at all.
Silveri stood upright, and they both whirled to see the creature hit the wall and fluster about, its claws scraping deep grooves in the stone. The mage swung an arm, angling Nelle behind him as he did so.
“Back to the armoire, Miss Beck,” he said, his voice tight and low. “Slowly. Don’t attract its attention.”
“What is it?” Nelle hissed as she obeyed, carefully stepping backward toward the tall armoire against the wall behind her.
“A harpen,” the mage answered.
“A what now?”
“A har— Get down!” The mage gripped Nelle’s shoulder and shoved her to the floor. Landing hard on her knees, she flung her arms over her head as he bowed over her. A series of horrible screams threatened to burst her eardrums, and Nelle’s vision filled with violent red feathers and flashing talons.
The mage’s silver hand seized one of the monster’s legs. Its wings beat at his arm while its beak snapped at his face and the talons of its free leg shredded the thick fabric of his sleeve.
“Miss Beck!” The mage’s shout was scarcely audible above the ghastly noise. “A spellbook! Quick!”
Nelle yelped acknowledgement and half crawled, half scuttled to the armoire. Flinging the doors open, she stared at the stacks of small leather-bound books crowding the bottom niches in no particular arrangement. “Which one?” she cried.
“I don’t care! Find something!” the mage roared. The monster had ceased diving at his face and now dragged him across the room, knocking him into the table and chairs. He fell over one of the chairs, breaking it beneath him as he landed hard, but still managed to maintain his grip. The monster shrieked again and pecked at his eyes.
Frantic, Nelle snatched up the first book her hand touched. She opened it, paging through, but the words were all strange, written in some language she didn’t know. A shimmering power emanated from the page, tingling her fingertips. There was definitely magic here.
“Miss Beck!”
“Coming!” Nelle leaped up and rushed toward the mage and the bird-thing. But how was he supposed to cast a spell while holding onto the monster like that?
She dropped the book on the floor near him and leaped for her cookpot. Heaving it by the handle, she swung it in a swift arc. A hard metallic clang and a cry of pain told her when the pot connected with the mage’s silver hands, but it struck the monster as well.
The bird-thing uttered a pathetic gurgle and folded up, dropping to the floor beside the mage. It wouldn’t stay down for long, however. Already it shook its head and gathered its wings, its angry, cruel, creepily human face turning to look at Nelle, who wielded the pot like a shield, prepared to defend herself.
Silveri reacted fast. Rolling to one side, he snatched up the spellbook and paged through quickly, his eyes searching. “What in the— Of all the options available, how did you grab this one?” he cried.
“You said you didn’t care!” Nelle protested, but the mage was already at work. Reading the spell in a quick stream of words that flowed off his tongue, he began to shape something in one hand. She couldn’t tell what it was, only that there was a brilliant glow of magic around it, and he seemed to be tossing it like a child’s ball.
The monster shrieked, surged up from the floor, and launched itself at Nelle. With a squeak of terror, she raised her pot and crouched, squeezing her eyes shut. A flash of light burst through the dark behind her eyelids. She heard a squawk of surprise followed by a sticky-sounding thud.
Cringing, uncertain what she would see, Nelle peered out from behind the pot, first toward where the bird-thing had been, then swiveling her gaze to the wall.
“What in the bullspitting boggarts?” she cried, lowering the pot and staring. “Is that slime?”
Wings outspread, its head turned to one side, the monster, looking more pathetic than fierce, was firmly glued to the stone wall. Green ooze clung to its feathers and slid in slow, unctuous trickles to puddle on the floor. The muscles in its bird wings strained to pull free, but the goo kept it fastened in place.
Nelle turned to the mage. He rose, straightening his robes and assuming an air of great magisterial poise, his face impassive. Holding up the book, he cast Nelle a quick glance just before he shut it with a snap.
“It would seem, Miss Beck,” he said in a cold, forbidding tone, “you managed to select one of the books from my earliest student days. Not, I might add, spells for which I received official instruction. These were . . . extracurricular experiments.”
She blinked at him. “So that’s a book of what? Joke spells?” She snorted, her face breaking into a grin. “How old were you exactly? Nine?”