Page 25 of Alder Woodacre and the Acorns of Affection (Amaranthine Interludes #3)

Kip might not have been the first to catch on—Kurloo had to have realized, and Kyrie was quicker on the uptake—but he figured it out way before Ash did. He and Tami both were being all kind and concerned, because that’s the way they were. Nice people. Trying to do the right thing.

Just like this guy.

Oh, man. This was huge.

Kip wanted a much smaller audience.

“More privacy, I think,” said the boy who was somehow still at his elbow. “I can help.”

Kyrie went from person to person and spoke quietly.

Just a few words, but they were oddly persuasive.

Mr. and Mrs. Reaverson allowed Reinier to guide them into the family room, and Boniface followed with Christobelle.

Nonny ordered the rest of the crossers out, lightly tapping Kyrie’s shoulder on his way past, as he followed them out the door.

Jiro made it into the kitchen in his stocking feet, and then Kyrie began to pluck silvery sigils from the air. “Anan, may I use you as an anchor?”

“Do as you please, little dragon,” rumbled the storm.

The kid’s sigils seemed to spark with lightning, and a barrier—a snappingly powerful barrier—enveloped the kitchen. Privacy was an understatement. The Maker himself probably wouldn’t be able to overhear anything said in this room.

In a way, Kyrie was stepping on Kip’s toes, but he was too relieved to get territorial. Now, it was down to him and Jiro, Ash and Tami, while Kurloo, Kyrie, and Anan could lend balance for their guest’s sake. The courtesies were covered.

Ash pulled out a chair at the table, and Kurloo lowered their guest onto the seat. The wolf took the chair beside him, lending his support, and Tami brought water before offering coffee or tea.

“Okay, now. It’ll be okay,” said Kip, taking a seat and taking charge. Because as their headman’s bondmate, he was on equal footing. “I’m getting the idea that you’re not a typical fan. Of the show, I mean. Crossing America ?”

Their guest dragged his gaze from Ash’s face.

Kip knew plenty of avian gestures and offered one that meant let me build so you can sing . Wrong context, but the guy’s expression slowly shifted. He realized that Kip was clued in, and he quickly adopted a receptive posture.

“Television,” Kip said. “Ash is the star of a television series. That’s how most people know him. He’s America’s most famous crosser.”

The guy slowly shook his head and finally spoke. “I did not know.”

“I get that. No television?”

“No. No television.”

“And … not American?”

“No.”

“So you didn’t know.”

He shook his head more urgently.

Tami hurried into the adjacent laundry room, bringing him back a handkerchief. She asked, “May we know your name?”

Adjusting his posture, he dipped his head courteously.

“My name is Kaga, and I am a tribute of the Glosswing clan. We make our home far from here. In a hidden place. Undisclosed. Isolated.” His words were heavily accented.

Catching Kip’s eye again, he gestured around the kitchen before adding, “None of … these things.”

Tami remarked, “Your English is very good.”

“I am a chronicler. I have learned many languages.”

“Glosswing,” said Kip, needing to bring everyone around to the important part. “I’m not familiar with the clan, but there are probably hundreds of avian clans. Maybe even thousands.”

Kaga placed a hand over his heart, and his voice trembled with emotion. “Glosswing, yes. We are crows.”

Ash stiffened, and his face went completely blank.

“Does that mean …? But you don’t look ….” Tami trailed off, shaking her head. Probably because she didn’t look anything like her father, either.