Page 22 of Enchanted Village

Margaret shook her head. “You’re busy enough with the shop. And besides, I’m a big girl. I’m not afraid of a sander. Though I do also need to get something for one of the portrait frames . . . a bit of the edge is blackened. Nothing some polish won’t fix, but still.”

Liza sipped her tea. “Or you could get a new frame.”

Margaret laughed. “And why would I do that? It’s just a bit of black on the edge. I’ll be able to get it out. Besides, it wouldn’t match the others if I got something new.”

“Right,” Liza said. “Though you could get all new frames.”

Here it was: Liza’s push to redecorate. Margaret should’ve anticipated it, honestly. She grabbed her own mug of tea, which was exceptionally warm in her hands and a welcome reprieve from the biting cold, even here where the outside of the coffee shop had been charmed to extend the heat from inside to the outdoor seating. The tea itself wasn’t quite the same as her hot chocolates—the temperature of the drink was a hair too hot, whereas her drinks were always just right—but it was nice just the same.

“I’m only bringing it up because this feels like an opportunity,” Liza continued. “I heard you saying that the glasses were cheap last night. And I’ve caught you admiring some of the art at the gallery. And you’re always trying to fix up the furniture. What if you just . . . use this as a chance to add a little of your own touches?”

Margaret sighed. “I don’t have the money to remodel. And even if I did . . . I like the pub the way it is. Mom picked out those frames.”

“I know you do,” Liza said, putting her tea down. “And I’m not saying you need to change everything. Just . . . do you really love every single thing in the pub, Mags? Really? Every painting, every rug? There isn’t anything you would change?”

Margaret shook her head. She was used to Liza’s subtle—and sometimes not-so-subtle—pushing on this. But it still stung. Of all people, she should’ve known why Margaret didn’t want to change anything. After all, the pub had been a second home for Liza growing up. Margaret’s mother and Liza’s mother were best friends. Liza knew better than anyone that it was Margaret’s job to keep the pub’s memory alive for them. What did it matter if some of the paintings or fixtures were a bit old-fashioned? They were as much a part of the pub as Margaret was.

“Forget I said anything,” Liza said. “And let’s change the subject to more interesting topics anyway. How about Silas showing up?”

Margaret snorted. “Showing up and getting promptly chased off by my dragon, you mean.”

“Which I’m sure he found charming,” Liza deadpanned.

Margaret snorted. “Oh, sure. An adrenaline rush, if anything.”

“Really got the blood pumping.” Liza smirked. “Everywhere.”

Margaret rolled her eyes. “Sure. Everyone knows being nearly maimed by a dragon is necessary foreplay—”

“Ms. Stippleton, Ms. Nettle! What a gift to be running into you both here.”

Margaret froze, the last word dying on her lip and burning even worse than the hot tea she just choked on. Because she knew that deep, warm voice.

“Headmaster!” Margaret said, trying for bright but coming off shrill as she turned around to stand and greet the ever-dapper Elliott Pine striding toward her and Liza. His plum-colored robes swished around his feet, gilded threads embroidered on the sleeves to look like birds. His hair was turning silver at the temples, but this only seemed to make him look more regal—which, coupled with his perpetually boyish face, made for a roguish combination indeed. He flashed her a bright grin before dipping down to hug her.

Liza had also stood, looking positively impish next to Margaret. There would be hell to pay later.

“What brings you down from school on a Monday?” Liza asked. “Still got a few weeks before Thanksgiving break, don’t we?”

“Oh, certainly.” Elliott chuckled. “And I’ve got lots to do, especially as it appears a rather territorial purtollion has taken up residence in one of the classrooms and started a nest. I have a feeling Professor Neebers will be working right up until the first day to get it safely extinguished.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, waving this off as if Class 4 creatures building flammable nests in classrooms was just another weekday. And, when she thought about it, she supposed it really was just another weekday at Emberwind Academy for the headmaster.

“Well, as always, if you need me,” Margaret said, “you know where to find me.”

Elliott’s eyes twinkled in the light. They were soft green, more olive than jade. The kind of eyes you wanted to trust. Of course, it had taken some time for Margaret to truly trust Elliott—she had never really warmed to any of the headmasters that had led the school before him. And, all right, if she was being truthful . . . she’d actually hated the others.

She had found Headmaster Twittle to be pompous and uncaring, and even though she admitted much of her dislike of him came from the fact that he had rejected her all those years ago, the fact remained. Then there had been Headmistress Amelia T. Grindle, who had been severe and unpleasant and who had thankfully only lasted a few years before Elliott had been brought in to replace her.

Of course, it had never mattered whether or not Margaret’s deep distrust and loathing were misplaced or borne of pure bias—due to her grandmother’s arrangement with Emberwind Academy, she had to put up with the school leaders, whether she liked it or not. But it wasn’t until Elliott arrived that she felt like she could actually breathe around a headmaster.

Maybe it was because, unlike the others, Elliott never treated her as less than, despite her lack of magical prowess. In fact, Elliott did come to Margaret often in search of her guidance when Professor Neebers, Emberwind’s Professor of the Well-Being and Training of Creatures, couldn’t answer one of Elliott’s questions or if there was need of a further expert in tending to one of the many beasts and creatures that populated Emberwind’s sprawling grounds.

In this moment, Margaret waited to see if Elliott would ask for her help with the nesting purtollion. She didn’t know them as well as she knew, say, kurlops or dragons, but it was nothing she couldn’t handle.

“I appreciate that,” Elliott said. “And I’ll keep it in mind. But for now, I’m just out shopping with my nephew.”

“Oh, I didn’t know you had a nephew,” Liza said, looking around. “Where is he?”