Page 64 of Enchanted Village

Margaret laughed. “That’s because they don’t have my secret ingredients.”

“I knew it,” Silas said at once. “You’ve been slipping something into those drinks to make them addictive, haven’t you? This has all been a ruse from the beginning.”

She laughed again, swatting at him with her free hand. He caught it, holding it, and even though their hands were now gloved again, she felt the warmth from him emanating through the thick knit fabric. She let him thread their hands together as she shook her head.

“Nothing that sinister, Professor,” she said. “Just . . . special ingredients.”

Silas quirked an eyebrow. “Now you have me intrigued.”

She sipped the hot chocolate. He was right, of course. It was perfectly fine, but it was missing something. Many things, actually.

“My grandmother planted a garden,” Margaret said, surprising herself with the admission. No one save the current headmaster of Emberwind Academy knew about the garden, and the memory of the garden would disappear from Elliott’s mind once he stepped down. That was the intensity of the magic that secured it to the school. That was the power Margaret’s grandmother had held at just seventeen when she graduated.

“A garden?” Silas prompted.

Margaret nodded.

“But I haven’t seen a garden. Is it behind the pub?”

“No, actually,” Margaret said. “It’s, well, it’s hidden. Secret.”

She waited for him to ask to see it, nerves biting at her. It was one thing to tell someone about it, but she hadn’t considered the part where now he might feel invited. She wasn’t ready to share.

“That’s clever,” Silas said, sounding impressed. “And that’s where everything comes from?”

Margaret nodded, relieved.

“I’m able to grow flowers and herbs, magical and non-magical, common and rare, all from the same plot. It’s enchanted, see. That’s what makes everything in the pub taste special.”

Silas seemed to consider this. “It’s like potion making, isn’t it? What you do?”

Margaret rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. It’s not at all. Or have you forgotten about my letter?”

She gently pulled her hand back, pushing the hair that had come loose from her beanie behind her ear.

“I haven’t,” Silas said mildly. “But I also know what I see. What you do isn’t just mixing drinks, Margaret. I’ve watched you. You know what people want before they ever have to ask.”

She blushed. “That’s just growing up in a pub. You learn to anticipate what people need.”

He regarded her with those polar eyes. “And what about what you need, Margaret?”

She froze at the intensity of his question. It was like that moment in the pub all over again, when he asked her what she wanted. Then, they’d been interrupted. But here . . .

What did she need? God, he knew what she needed. What she wanted. She saw it plain in his eyes.

Up ahead, the hippogriffs whinnied. Margaret looked at her watch and found it read time to go. Whatever she needed, it wouldn’t happen here.

“I think it’s about to snow harder,” Margaret told Silas. “The hippogriffs don’t want to fly in a storm.”

Silas chuckled. “Fair enough. Let’s go.”

The ride back to Hex Hollow felt unfairly short compared to the ride out. Margaret believed the hippogriffs must have flown slower and done perhaps a handful of loops to extend the initial flight, but this one seemed to be over before it began. It wasn’t as though she could blame them, though, if they were really trying to outrace a potential storm.

When they landed on the ground, the hippogriffs’ caretaker and owner of the carriage service was there to greet them. He was a tall, spindly man with a long white beard who remarked that Margaret was welcome to visit the pair of hippogriffs anytime, as they seemed quite enamored with her. This made her preen almost as much as the creatures did at the compliment; they promptly began fluffing their feathers and pawing the ground with satisfied grunts.

This joyful feeling, however, was swiftly punctured by fireworks exploding nearby that made both hippogriffs snap their beaks and rear up, pawing the air with sharp, furious strokes.

“Damn that Patrick Kerrigan,” the man said, shaking his head so that his beard shook as well. “Been scaring these two all week. Wasn’t one night of ridiculous fireworks enough?”