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Margaret nodded, and the boy shouldered his bag, then slipped out without a word. Silas spoke first.

“I’m an ass,” he said. “I can’t believe I’m such an ass.”

Margaret smiled. “You’re not. And he’ll be all right. I guarantee this isn’t the first time someone’s brought up his mom. At least this time, he had something to make him feel better.”

Silas tilted his head at her in confusion.

Margaret winked. “A stomach full of hot chocolate, of course.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

When the trunks had all been flown to the station and the castle had generally emptied out, Silas could’ve sworn he felt a sigh of relief ripple through the old stone. Certainly, the castle was meant to be filled, and the absence of students would begin to needle soon. But for a moment, there was quiet and peace, and Silas felt he could finally breathe.

He found his uncle in his office, using his wand to levitate several books in the air as he considered each of their titles. After reading each one, he’d either shake or nod his head, then send the book either back to the shelf or into a steadily growing pile to his right.

“Isn’t it early for spring cleaning?” Silas asked, making Elliott chuckle.

“I can never get this space picked up when the students are here,” Elliott said. “I’ve been meaning to go through my books. About time I admit to myself that there are simply some that I am never meant to read. Best I say goodbye to them and send them on to the next person to have a try.”

Silas took a seat in one of his uncle’s many chairs. The office was roomy, filled with bookshelves and cozy furniture, presumably so that Elliott and his guests could sit almost anywhere in the room and be comfortable. There were several tall windows that overlooked the grounds of Emberwind, currently glittering with another fresh snowfall. There was also a small, black dragon—the same size as Bernie—curled up in front of a fireplace, snoozing away.

“So, you do have a dragon,” Silas said with awe, stepping closer.

“Oh, I don’t know if I ‘have’ Kindling as much as Kindling enjoys my fireplace and therefore makes frequent visits to my office to enjoy it.”

Silas smiled. “Margaret would probably say the same thing about Bernie.”

“Bernie?” Elliott asked, eyes shining as he sorted the last of the floating books and then took a seat at his desk. “Marvelous name.”

“She’s got a way with creatures,” Silas said. “Bernie, especially.”

Elliott smiled. “She’s always been like that. I remember Fiona telling me a story about her befriending a peracool she met at the lake. Nearly drowned trying to give the thing a hug.”

Silas had no idea what a peracool was, but it sounded just like Margaret.

“She’s . . . remarkable,” he said. “I’ve never met anyone like her.”

Elliott took a sip of tea from a cup that had magically appeared in his hand.

“Is that so?” Elliott asked bemusedly.

Silas was worrying the cuticle on one hand when a warm cup of tea suddenly appeared in his hand, so fast and sudden that he nearly dropped it. He glanced over at Elliott, who was watching him closely.

“Is everything all right with Margaret?” Elliot asked. “You sound like you have a concern.”

Silas laughed, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand before lifting the cup to his mouth and drinking the tea. It was the perfect temperature, hot enough to calm him but not enough that his tongue or mouth were burnt. It was the same tea, he realized, that his uncle had always brought with him at Christmas, the one that tasted like apple blossoms and immediately made Silas feel at ease.

“I’m worried about her,” Silas said. “With Fox Bar opening, I can tell she’s . . . on edge. And it feels like she won’t let me all the way in.”

“About Fox Bar?”

“Well, the owner’s a bit of a prick,” Silas said. “I don’t know if he means to be, honestly. But he seems to think the only way for him to succeed is to run her out of business. There’re things we could do, you know, to really make the pub stand out. But she’s so . . .”

Silas hesitated on the word, which made Elliott laugh.

“Stubborn?” Elliott filled in. “I would think so. She’s just like her grandmother that way.”

“She doesn’t listen,” Silas said, a bit of his tea sloshing over the side of his mug and stinging his hand. “Sorry. I just . . . it doesn’t make sense to me, the way she’s acting. I’m happy to do things manually to help, obviously, but she seems hesitant to use any magic—especially to update the pub. If anything, she resists magic more than anyone I’ve ever seen.”