Page 29 of Enchanted Village

Her eyes found the dragon in the bowl across from him, and she arched an eyebrow.

“Don’t tell me you came for another round with Bernie,” she said.

“Only to make amends,” Silas promised. “I swear I haven’t come to undo your excellent work. I’m actually here to offer my help.”

Margaret laughed. “That’s very kind of you, Silas, but I’ve already taken care of everything.”

“I know you mentioned that,” Silas said, choosing his phrasing carefully. “But I was walking by, and I couldn’t help but notice the exterior.”

She scrunched her nose, glancing at the boarded-up windows. “Well, yes. I haven’t had a chance to get to that yet.”

“And I’ll leave this instant if you want me to,” Silas said. “But before I do, I wanted to offer one last time. My father was a carpenter, and, well, I’m handy.”

He winced. Had he really just said those words? He ran a hand through his hair, searching in his apparently empty skull for some intelligence.

“I just meant,” he said, grabbing and holding up the toolbox, “that this is something I know quite a lot about.”

She laughed again. “Oh, is that so?”

“Very,” Silas said. “And really, you’d be putting me out of my suffering. I can’t tell you how much sleep I’ve lost thinking about the mess I made. And even if you could take care of it in an instant yourself . . . it really would go a long way to mending my conscience. If anything, you’d be doing me a favor.”

She watched him for a moment, light continuing to dance in her eyes as she considered him.

“You haven’t been talking to Liza, have you?” Margaret asked, surprising him.

“Liza?” Silas asked, then remembered the blond bookstore owner. “Ah, your friend. No, we haven’t spoken since we were all together.”

Margaret thought about this again, seeming to determine something. She strode behind the bar, digging beneath it for something. Glasses clinked against each other before she emerged holding two large, stoneware mugs. She placed them on the bar, then dug out an old kettle that she filled with water and popped on a sliver of stove that Silas hadn’t noticed before. She lit a fire beneath it, then went to a cabinet and opened it, and when the door swung shut, Silas noted the door was just slightly askew. Something else he could fix, but he held his tongue on that point.

On the bar, the dragon hiccuped in her sleep, a tiny plume of smoke rising from out of her nostrils. Silas watched as the creature stretched, then rolled to her stomach.

“She seems so peaceful now,” Silas said, nodding to the dragon as he set the toolbox back down for the moment. He wasn’t sure what, exactly, Margaret had decided with regard to his offer. But it seemed like a good thing that she hadn’t told him to leave, so he figured polite conversation might keep him in her good graces.

“Are we still worried?” Silas asked, keeping his eyes on the sleeping creature. “That she might . . . react to my being here?”

That was what Margaret had said, right? That the dragon had been territorial.

“I think it was the combination of factors,” Margaret said. “Some words I said and how she interpreted them. And the fact that you, um, touched me.”

Ah. Of course.

Silas hadn’t thought about it, really. He’d only intended to shake Margaret’s hand. Shake it and, yes, make a comment on her comment on him being a “tiny bit good-looking.” Innocent flirting, really. But apparently, that had been enough to set off the creature. It reminded him of his family dog growing up who would bark whenever his parents got close to each other. The only difference was that had been a Schnauzer and did not have the ability to burn down a building.

“Anyway,” Margaret said. “We had a chat, and I think she’ll be better now.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Silas said, watching her return to the cabinet—which squeaked now in addition to being slightly off-kilter. Margaret ignored this as she pulled out two tea bags and popped one in each mug. He searched for a tag to try to deduce the flavor, but he couldn’t see one. Would it be rude to tell her he wasn’t a fan of Earl Grey? Too floral. He decided against it.

There was a small mewling sound, and Silas turned to see a pair of amber eyes watching him from the bowl on the bar. Instinctually after yesterday, he froze, not wanting to upset this creature by accident. Margaret, whose attention had also been drawn by the sound, turned her gaze from the dragon to Silas.

“Listen now,” she said to the dragon. “Remember what we talked about. I like that bowl. Don’t go breaking it, or it’ll be the last bowl you nap in. And no . . . well, you remember what we said about the nice man. You hear me?”

The dragon blinked at her, one soft blink before the dragon returned to watching the fire beneath the kettle.

“Anyway,” Margaret said. “She’s been helping me all day, so she’s probably too tired to go after you.”

Margaret smiled at the dragon. Then, the kettle started a breathy whistle, and she turned the flame down. She poured hot water into each mug before adding a pinch of something and a dash of nectar to each cup. Again, he wondered why she didn’t ask what he liked, how he took his tea. She simply pushed the mug across the bar to him and then turned around, busying herself with something under the bar.

Silas wrapped his hands around the mug, the heat of the cup seeping into his skin and warming his body instantly. It wasn’t yet as cold as he imagined Hex Hollow would get when the snow arrived, but until he held the cup, he hadn’t realized just how chilly it really was.