Page 21 of Enchanted Village

“I need to know why you attacked a perfectly nice man,” she continued. “He was trying to say hello.”

Bernie cracked an eye open. Even with that one eye open, Margaret saw the indignance there. Dragons, in Margaret’s experience, were extraordinarily territorial. Once they had decided that something—or, in certain cases, someone—was precious, they responded to any perceived threat with a “flame first, ask questions later” mentality. Margaret hadn’t realized the calico had warmed to her that way, but now that she considered it . . .

Margaret rolled the interaction from last night over in her mind: her telling Liza she didn’t need to talk to Silas, Silas introducing himself, his hand on her hand as he leaned closer to whisper to her—

Margaret shivered at the mere memory. He had been so close. God, maybe Liza was right. Maybe she did need to start dating again, if minor attention from an attractive man sent her to pieces this way. Her heart had hammered—

Ah. There it was. An increased heartbeat, and he’d gotten close. Too close, perhaps. And after Bernie had heard her going on and on about how she didn’t want to talk to him . . .

In other words, a perceived threat.

“Were you guarding me?” Margaret asked Bernie. “Because, if you were, that’s very sweet, but also very unnecessary.”

Bernie harrumphed. Clearly, they’d reached a sticking point.

“I do not need to be guarded,” Margaret said. “I’m perfectly capable of protecting myself. Especially from nice, attractive men.”

Bernie raised an eyebrow.

“Well, I won’t be seeing him now that you’ve quite literally chased him away,” Margaret said, glaring at the calico. “But the point is, I don’t need you chasing any nice, attractive men away. I do a fine enough job of that on my own.”

Bernie looked unconvinced.

“Well, fine, you may guard me from other men. But let this one alone, all right?” Margaret said. “You understand?”

Bernie went back to sleep, but Margaret felt there had been progress. She stretched her legs and moved to get out of bed, eyes passing over the rest of her room as she reached overhead and let her muscles crack and pop.

Margaret’s bedroom was above the pub, and she spent as little time up there as possible. It was a nice enough space, if a touch small. When her grandmother and mother had been alive, they’d charmed the room to be spacious enough to accommodate all three of them, but after Daphne passed away, the room went back to its non-magical boundary. But Margaret didn’t mind, not really. It was cozy. Her bed was made with a soft, patchwork quilt and warm, flannel sheets, not perfectly the way her mom always had, but made, nonetheless. There was a hamper of clean laundry that needed to be put away, but Margaret would get to that when she got to it. Her desk was a slight disaster, overflowing with quills and leatherbound notebooks. The room itself was small, and small rooms always felt messier more quickly, but Margaret only really used the room to sleep or stew. What did she care?

Already, she felt the ache in her muscles from chasing the dragon around last night. The ache followed her as she threw off the threadbare quilt and descended the spiral stairs that took her from her room to the pub. She’d hoped before that maybe it wouldn’t be as bad now in the morning light.

It was worse.

Blackened wood was everywhere, and the smell of smoke was thick. Liza had charmed a temporary cloth to fit in place over where the windowpane needed to go, but the entire place looked thoroughly trashed. Margaret sighed. Still in her pajamas, she got to work on scrubbing the wood, getting down on her hands and knees to get as much of the mess as she could. At some point, Bernie floated down and had the decency to look a little guilty. She found some extra rags in the closet and flew them over to Margaret, looking thoroughly chastened as she dropped them next to Margaret’s bucket of suds.

“It’s all right,” Margaret said. “I know you didn’t mean to.”

At lunchtime, Margaret heard a pop from the fireplace mantel and saw a glowing coaster. At least, to the untrained, non-magical eye, it looked like a coaster: plain stoneware that guests often used for their drinks. But actually, it had been enchanted by Liza years before so that the girls could pass letters to each other from their houses. All one of them had to do was place a letter on the coaster and touch their fingertip to the edge; the coaster would then glow, and the letter would disappear and appear on the other girl’s coaster—no matter how far away she was.

Even now, seeing a letter materialize atop the glowing coaster, Margaret grinned at the magic and brilliance of her friend. She stood, wiping suds off on her pajama pants, and picked up a letter.

Petals and Pixies? My treat.

Several hearts decorated the letter, which told her that Liza was probably beside herself with worry. Margaret checked her watch. There was no way she was getting all this cleaning done in time to open tonight. And that wasn’t even including the sign outside. She scrawled back a quick Be there in twenty! and dropped it on the coaster before heading upstairs to shower and get dressed.

When she left the Toasty Owl, she did her best not to look back at the destruction. It twisted in her gut. However, not looking back meant she accidentally looked forward, which unfortunately revealed that Fox Bar was coming along quickly. An impressive building was taking shape, one without a single burnt sign.

Margaret sighed. One thing at a time. Caffeination helped with most problems, after all, didn’t it?

By the time Margaret arrived, Liza had already ordered them drinks and had taken a seat outside the alarmingly pink coffee shop and bakery that sat across from Liza’s bookshop. Everything from the doorknobs to the portraits on the wall were in shades of pink, and even the energy there felt, well, young and too bright and excessive. It hadn’t always been that way. Margaret remembered when it was a quaint little place with worn but comfortable armchairs and thick, sturdy tables . . . nothing like the white metal thing that wobbled beneath her now.

“Is this what you think Fox Bar will be like?” Margaret asked, not bothering to hide her mournful tone. “Everything shiny and new?”

Liza rolled her eyes. “I knew you were worrying about that. I asked around. Apparently, the owner is some snooty businessman that’s trying to buy his way into the community with a flashy bar. But don’t worry. Everyone loves you. They won’t set foot in Fox Bar so long as you’re standing.”

“They might if I have to close for multiple days for damage,” Margaret said. “Which reminds me. I need to stop by Weatherby’s on the way back. I’ll need to sand those walls before I repaint them, and I think he’s got a sander.”

“I’ll help,” Liza said. “Don’t be silly.”