Page 65 of Enchanted Village

Margaret was delighted to have found someone else who did not approve of Patrick Kerrigan’s shenanigans.

“You’re not a fan of the Fox Bar then?” she asked.

“Not a drinker, myself,” the man said, patting each hippogriff to calm them down. “No, that kind of atmosphere . . . well, it doesn’t sit well with me. Other people are welcome to it, of course. You’re young. Maybe you like having your ears blasted off. But me, I prefer quiet with my creatures.”

Margaret smiled, running the back of her hand along a hippogriff’s feathered neck.

“Well, you’re welcome at the Toasty Owl any time,” Silas said, surprising Margaret. “Quiet, cozy, and the best drinks you’ve ever tasted—both with and without liquor, I might add.”

The man considered this. “Is that so?”

Silas nodded. “Any time you’re interested.”

He seemed pensive. “I’ll see. Thank you for the invitation, son.”

Margaret said a final goodbye—for now—to the hippogriffs, then turned to Silas. Night had properly fallen, and he had pulled his glasses off to clean them on the edge of his shirt.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she said. “Talk up the pub that way.”

Silas chuckled. “Why not? Seems like a friendly guy.”

“But—”

“Margaret,” Silas said, her name potent honey on his tongue. “I want to help you, all right? Let me help.”

She smiled. “Okay.”

More fireworks cracked across the sky, this time a dragon that swooped through the stars. Margaret stared at it, then looked down the hill to where a line of witches, wizards, and sorcerers waited for Fox Bar to open. Even in the dark, she could tell there was no such line outside of her pub.

An idea sparked in her mind.

“What if we went?” Margaret asked. “To see what all the fuss is about? To see what we’re really contending with here?”

Silas glanced at her. “You mean, go to Fox Bar? Tonight?”

Margaret nodded. “Go behind enemy lines. After all, once we know what he’s really doing, maybe we can figure out some things to do ourselves.”

Silas regarded her for a moment, then extended his hand.

“You know I’ll do whatever you want to do,” he said. “So, if it’s going into Patrick Kerrigan’s lair with you, I’ll do it. Just try to keep him from turning me into a vampire, won’t you?”

Margaret laughed, holding tight to his hand.

“No promises,” she said. “But I’ll do my best.”

Chapter Thirty-One

Silas didn’t want to go to Fox Bar. His entire body seemed to be screaming at him to turn away. But Margaret wanted to go, and it wasn’t like she didn’t have a good reason. If anything, it was a smart move to inspect the competition directly.

But would Silas have preferred to be in the pub alone with her? Yes, yes he would have, especially after the day they’d spent together. The day that assured him that last night’s kiss wasn’t a misstep and that this was the beginning of something special and, dare he say it: magical.

They did stop at the pub so that Margaret could freshen up and pop another Temporarily Closed sign on the front of the pub. Margaret had also asked if she could bring Liza. She felt bad for abandoning her friend earlier, and, she insisted, this seemed like the kind of job that could use reinforcements. Silas agreed, actually. The more the merrier—or, more precisely, the more people protecting Margaret from Patrick Kerrigan, the better. He’d seen the hatred burning in Liza’s eyes when Patrick had first come into the pub. She was a worthy ally.

“I’ve sent her a letter,” Margaret shouted down from her room, as if that explained things. “I anticipate we’ll see her over there.”

Then, he heard the telltale stomp of her boots just before he saw her descending the stairs. She was in a set of deep-red robes fit over a matching dress, something between oxblood and garnet that glittered slightly when she walked and clung to her chest and flared out at the waist. She’d done something to her hair that smoothed the curls behind her ears, and she’d pulled back one side with a gold pin encrusted in ruby-colored jewels.

To say she took his breath away didn’t do her justice. She robbed him of breath, of sense, of life itself.