Page 29

Now I sat beside her sister in Maple Grove's dining room, trying to keep mashed potatoes from sliding off a spoon while pretending my thoughts weren't thirty-three yards away at the nurses' station.

As long as I stayed within that invisible boundary, Azaren could move wherever he pleased. The moment he or I crossed it, the bond apparently decided subtlety was overrated and dragged him through walls, ceilings, locked doors, or any other obstacle unfortunate enough to be in the way.

He'd made me promise to remain on this side of the building while he researched. Technically, I had. For now.

"Open," I coaxed. Mrs. Langton frowned at the spoon. "I know mashed potatoes aren't exciting, but they're much better than the peas."

"I like peas."

"Then today is your lucky day."

I scooped three onto the spoon.

She looked offended. "Those are mashed potatoes."

"Mostly."

Her lips twitched before she opened her mouth.

Mrs. Langton had the same delicate features as her sister, though age had settled differently upon them. Where Mrs. Wilton was soft and round and perpetually warm, Mrs. Langton was all sharp cheekbones, silver hair cut neatly at her chin, and bright blue eyes that missed absolutely nothing.

I'd known both women for years. Which meant I'd spent most of the morning wondering whether Mrs. Langton was secretly a fairy godmother too. Or a fairy something. Maybe the magic ran in families. Maybe she could turn pumpkins into carriages. Maybe she'd once sent a princess to a ball. Maybe⁠—

"How's Harriet?"

The spoon stopped halfway to her mouth. So did my heart. Harriet. I'd known Mrs. Wilton's first name, of course. It was written across her prescriptions, on Christmas cards, and beneath the photographs framed around her cottage. But almost everyone called her Mrs. Wilton.

Hearing her sister use Harriet made her illness feel suddenly more personal. Less like a magical mystery we were investigating and more like a woman I loved slowly disappearing in front of me.

I lowered the spoon. "Not very good."

Mrs. Langton's expression didn't change. "How not very good?"

"She's weaker." I glanced around the dining room, though no one appeared to be listening. "She's lost weight. A lot of it. And the cough is worse."

"I see."

That was all she said. No gasp. No worried questions. Not even surprise. A cold little knot tightened in my stomach. "You knew."

"I suspected."

"How?"

She looked pointedly at the spoon still hovering between us. "Are you planning to feed me that, or preserve it for future generations?"

"Mrs. Langton."

"Poppy."

I narrowed my eyes. She opened her mouth obediently. I gave her the bite, waited until she swallowed, and set the bowl down before she could distract me again.

"Are you like her?"

"Older?"

"A fairy godmother."

One silver eyebrow rose. "You really do ask questions without warning."