Page 5 of Enchanted Village

Liza looked like she had many, many things to say to Margaret, but the witch bit her tongue, and they stepped outside. To Margaret’s surprise, it wasn’t just Old Man Weatherby waiting. In fact, there was a small crowd of villagers, nearly all of whom gasped when she emerged with the kurlop. She felt him puff up slightly in her arms and turned quickly to move away from the group that had gathered, but not before her gaze had snagged on a tall man at the front of the crowd she didn’t recognize. Odd, since nearly everyone in town passed through the Toasty Owl at some point or another.

Not that she had much time to dwell on the man—or anything else, for that matter—considering the squirming kurlop in her arms. The last thing she needed was for him to get further upset by the crowd. Even if he didn’t want to hurt her, she knew that any frightened animal would bite if it meant getting away from a perceived threat. So, she hurried to the woods with the kurlop still purring against her, her mind on finding a nice, dark spot to settle him in, perhaps—

“Excuse me.”

Margaret whirled around. She’d made it to the edge of the woods that surrounded the village, where the smell of rich earth filled her nostrils and fallen leaves crunched underfoot. Now, she was facing the same stranger she’d seen in the crowd. He was even taller than she’d realized, with blue eyes watching her from beneath a mop of dark, curly hair. He hung back from her and the kurlop, arms crossed behind him.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said. “I’ve . . . I’ve just never seen someone—I mean something—I’ve never seen anything like that before.”

Margaret prickled slightly at that. He must be a traveler, not to recognize something as fairly innocuous as a kurlop. Most people might not have gotten quite as up close with them as Margaret had, but they were ubiquitous enough that even the most basic volume of magical creature encyclopedias covered them.

Still, something about the stranger made her hold her tongue. Perhaps it was the deep, honeyed quality to his voice that kept her from snapping at him. Instead, she straightened her back, prompting the kurlop to give a tiny grunt that reminded her she was holding a fairly dangerous creature in her arms. Not that the kurlop seemed dangerous at the moment. He was currently nuzzling against her and yawning, showing off his sharp fangs.

“I’m Silas,” the man said, his gaze steady if a bit wide-eyed at the sight of the kurlop’s teeth.

Margaret blinked at the man—at Silas. There was something oddly familiar about him. Perhaps he had come into her pub? She narrowed her eyes as she tried again to place him. But Silas . . . no, she was certain she didn’t recognize that name.

“Right,” Margaret said. “Well, I should get on with this. So, if you don’t mind—”

“I was watching from outside,” Silas continued. “I mean, not watching by myself. With the group, I mean. I was walking by and saw you battling that—”

“I wasn’t battling him,” Margaret said, not intending to sound icy but knowing the words had come out that way. The man’s word choice irritated her, as if the kurlop had been fighting her rather than cowering. She waited for the man’s eyes to narrow or for a bruised ego to show, but he just laughed.

“Sorry, of course you weren’t,” he said. “I shouldn’t have assumed. I’m new to this town—to magic in general, actually—and I’m still pretty clueless.”

His honesty surprised her, but more than that, she couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing. New in town was one thing, but new to magic?

“So,” Silas said, completely unbothered by Margaret’s apparent inability to form words. “What are you going to do with—well, I suppose my first question should be, what kind of creature is that, exactly?”

A smile escaped Margaret as she looked down at the kurlop. Creatures, she knew. Creatures, she could talk about, even to a stranger.

“This is a kurlop,” she said. “They like dark places: woods, shadows, attics, closets. They’re easily frightened. This one’s only a baby. He must’ve been separated from his mother.”

Margaret cradled the kurlop with one hand and stroked his head with the other.

“He’ll be all right out here, though,” she said. “They’re very sturdy and usually avoid people. I have a feeling he’ll find a tree to nest in and put this whole ordeal behind him.”

Silas smiled. “I have a feeling he’ll remember who saved him.”

For a moment, Margaret thought that Silas was mocking her. Usually, the men Margaret dealt with rarely gave a compliment unless they wanted something.

But no—Silas was complimenting her, and that bald admiration unnerved her nearly as much as if he’d smirked at her.

“Right,” she said, turning away from him and back to the woods. “Well, I’m just going to let this little guy go, then.”

She walked away from Silas, feeling his eyes on her back. She could only imagine what she looked like. No doubt the attempt to catch the kurlop had left her already-wild curls even wilder than usual, and she hadn’t bothered to change out of the plain sweater and skirt she’d been wearing when Mr. Weatherby had come by earlier.

In her arms, the creature squeaked, and she bent to let him down onto the dirt. Without waiting, he scuttled forward, found a tree, and disappeared into the branches above.

“Best of luck, friend!” Silas called, and Margaret looked over her shoulder to see that Silas was waving at the kurlop. He looked so genuinely thrilled that Margaret could only blink at him.

“Well,” Margaret said, shifting on her feet. “I’ll be going, then. Thank you for your—erm. Support.”

“Of course,” he said, meeting her eyes with his blue ones. She was struck, briefly, by just how blue they were. But then she shifted her gaze, for there were footsteps coming from behind her in the woods.

“Please shout now if you’ve been killed,” came Liza’s voice, sounding thoroughly vexed. “Save me the trouble of walking through the mud, all right?”

Margaret laughed. She had started toward Liza before she remembered that Silas was still there, but when she turned to find him, he had already begun to walk back toward Old Man Weatherby’s.