They nodded in the unison of a long and harmonious marriage. “Daisy, you know more about the room situation,” his father said. “I’ll round up refreshments.” The old farmer made the word sound overly dainty, but it was easy to forgive. The proctor had made many enemies quickly.

“Acceptable?” Gabriel inquired of the proctor as his folks slipped inside.

She sniffed. “You have yet to demonstrate the familiar is properly bonded and obedient to your will.”

“She looks obedient to me,” Gabriel said, unable to resist teasing Nic with an assessing look. Her expression remained carefully schooled, but her eyes held green fire.

“That remains to be seen. Regardless, it would be irresponsible of me to allow her to remain free if she is not under a wizard’s complete control.” The proctor eyed Nic with false sympathy. “If only for her own safety.”

“Ah, yes.” Gabriel snapped his fingers as if only then remembering. “I recall you suggested a demonstration of Lady Phel’s alternate form, just before we were interrupted.” By the untimely arrival of Selly, trussed up in ropes and fighting like a marsh cat. He’d desperately wanted Selly to be found, but that had been the worst possible timing. “Familiar,” he said to Nic, using the word to harness her attention. This had to go smoothly. And he couldn’t compromise this little demonstration by asking her permission. This was as close as he could come.

“Yes, wizard,” she replied calmly, her eyes full of perfect trust, her magic a billowing counterpoint, summer roses, fiery heat, and spiced wine filling him with heady power.

He reached for the silver strands of his magic that connected them, following the rich, wine-red channels of her magic that flowed back to him. Gathering them gently, he held her hand, feeling as if he’d leashed a wild horse by fragile silver ribbons. Wrapping them around his mental fist, he tugged, sharp and swift, willing her to become something else.

If she thought he didn’t sense how it pained her, she was wrong. He was also aware that she attempted to conceal it from him, but nothing could disguise the convulsion of self that disrupted her, that pulled the internal to the external, a wrenching dislocation of her human skin.

Their audience gasped, murmurs of surprise and speculation rising into louder conversation. Gabriel ignored them, his attention trained on the proctor’s reaction—and on the glory that was Nic’s alternate form.

A majestic and shining silver bird, she stood with her head level to his. Without the erotic haze clouding his brain, without the cloying worry that he’d perform the magic wrong or somehow harm her, he was able to observe her more closely. Though clearly not equipped for standing on flat ground, her silver talons dug into the soft lawn, gripping with strength to allow for her poised posture. A crest of shimmering shades of crystal crowned her proud head, cascading down her long, arched neck. Wings that looked large enough to carry even her considerable mass in flight were folded sleekly along her body, and a long tail flowed to the ground, trailing in glittering argent shades. Here and there, he caught a shimmer of rose red. He got the impression that, if she chose to spread her tail like a peacock might, that the fan would show more of those rosy shades. Perhaps her wings, too.