Tangled

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312 Lisa: Elverly's Seasonings

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LISA

"So, this is the face," I explain, pointing to my crude circle. "And these are buttons on the side for different functions." I add a few lumps to represent the buttons. The Grand Sage peers at my drawing, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "I see. And you believe we could adapt something like this for magical communication?" "Maybe?" I shrug, feeling a bit self-conscious about my suggestion now that I've said it out loud. "I mean, I don't know much about magic. It was just an idea." He nods slowly, his eyes still fixed on my terrible sketch. "You know, Lisa, your idea has some merit. The compact size would certainly be an advantage. Of course, I'd need to acquire some of these watches to see what I could do with them, but it's an intriguing concept." A warm flush of pride spreads through my chest at his words. It's nice to feel like I've contributed something useful, especially when I often feel so out of my depth in this magical world.

A strange scratching sound comes from the door, startling me out of my warm glow. I glance at the Grand Sage, who looks equally puzzled.

"I'll get it," I offer, pushing away from the table.

As I approach the door, the scratching intensifies, sounding distinctly impatient. Curious, I turn the handle and pull the door open.

To my surprise, Selene slinks into the room, her silver fur gleaming in the dim light. Ice-blue eyes meet mine before she pads past me, walking straight toward the older gnome, where they stare at each other in silence. Probably mind-reading each other or something. Elverly gives an exasperated sigh, grabbing for a washcloth and wiping the floor. Muddy paw prints trail behind Selene, leaving the marks of her presence. "Walking into a home, leaving it a mess. I'd never have a dog as a pet. Too much time spent cleaning up after them."

"Some people don't mind the mess. But Selene isn't a dog. She's a proper wolf and the Westwood

Pack Luna now."

floor?" Elverly points at them, her ascerbic words even throwing Selene off

understanding." -Elverly's scowl deepens as she

can only describe as a grimace of politeness as she curtsies. It's like watching a cat try to swim-unnatural and slightly

intones, her voice flat. "It was most unbecoming and

312 Lisa: Elverly's Seasonings

bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. Elverly's delivery? Let's

snaps to me. Maybe she could hear my internal laughter, which stops abruptly as she stomps over, each step punctuated by a soft thud of her gnomish feet. "You," she

grin spreads across my face. "Didn't you say I was

the kitchen. "You're getting fat. You

second. Wasn't she just complaining about the quality

shoulder that clearly questions my intelligence. "Of course I did. I understand

our flight, the urgency, the fear. My smile fades as I realize something. "Elverly?" I call out, following her into the kitchen. "Did

around the small space, pulling out pots and pans with a clatter that seems too loud in the sudden silence that follows my question. For a moment, I think she hasn't heard me. But then she turns, fixing me with those sharp eyes of hers. "And what if I did?" she

at her, mouth

Really?

snaps, turning back to the stove. "And make yourself useful. Chop those

counter where a