Page 68 of Threadbound

Jamie made a point of always lighting that lantern—one of the few things he’d rescued from Bill Eckel’s house after his momma’s death. He also always made spice cakes—only two, one for himself and one that got stale on his windowsill before he threw it out with a slight feeling of guilt for wasting food. Although maybe this year he’d be able to get Bran to eat it…

Jamie stopped mid-mix and frowned at the window and the lengthening darkness beyond.

This was ridiculous. This whole leaving-food-for-the-man-who-was-also-a-bird thing. If Bran was hungry enough to eat what Jamie left for him, then he was probably hungry enough to want an actual meal. And if that was the case, then there was no reason Jamie shouldn’t just invite him in.

Andthatthought made Jamie feel guilty for not inviting Bran into his apartment before—at least not since the whole turning-into-a-bird thing—because he was probably cold and hungry being out there at night, even if he did have a feather coat.

So Jamie got a piece of paper and a marker and some masking tape and wroteCome in for dinner—tap on the glassand taped it to the window facing out. And then he found a piece of charcoal—he used it sometimes for sketching the drawings in herbal manuscripts—and wroteBRANon the sill itself.

And then he got back to cooking.

Macaroni and cheese, but the real kind made with expensive brie and cream, not the stuff from a box. Roasted apples studded with cloves with a cinnamon stick replacing the cores. Buttermilk drop biscuits. Spice cake heavy with currants.

He also left a little bowl of milk and honey next to the punched-tin lantern with its tiny candle for the bookas and set out a small plate so he could share the meal with them, too.

The cakes and biscuits were cooling and the apartment smelled like apples and spices with only about seven minutes left on the baking macaroni and cheese when a sharp tapping interrupted Jamie’s cooking trance.

It took him a second to recognize the sound.

And another second to cross the apartment and push up the window, careful to not knock over the bookas’ milk as he made room for the giant bird on the other side of the sash.

Jamie hadn’t been sure Bran would actually want to come in.

In the light, ducking his shiny black head as he carefully stepped in and hopped down, avoiding the bookas’ bowl and lantern, it was clear that Bran wasn’t in great shape. He was dirty, for one thing, and some of his feathers looked like they were sticking out at slightly funny angles. The sharp brightness of his green eyes had been dulled—whether by too much timespent as a bird or some other cause like hunger or cold, Jamie didn’t know.

Jamie also wasn’t sure what tosayto Bran, now that the fairy had actually accepted his invitation.

Bran looked up at him.

“Um. Hi.”

Bran let out a small caw.

“D’you maybe want a shower? And some clothes or something?”

The raven looked in the direction of Jamie’s bathroom, then cawed again and hopped its way in that direction. Jamie took that as ayes, I would like a shower, and went to grab a t-shirt and a pair of plaid pajama pants. Bran-the-raven was sitting on the bathroom rug, and Jamie set the clothes on the lid of the toilet.

“Do I need to… turn it on for you?”

Another caw, this one vaguely derisive.

“Um. Okay. That’s a ‘no,’ I guess. I’ll, uh, leave you to it.” He backed out of the bathroom, pulling the door shut behind him, then jumped about a foot in the air when the timer went off. “Shit.”

Jamie went to deal with dinner, pulling the apples and macaroni out of the oven and setting them on the stovetop, then pulling out plates and silverware. He also grabbed the bottle of wine he’d gotten for the occasion—he’d been planning on having some himself, and he saw no reason to change that, since the night was definitely going to be weird enough that he might need it.

He finished all that, then noticed that he could hear water running, which he assumed was a good sign, since it meant that Bran had managed to give himself opposable thumbs in order to operate the taps. When the water shut off, Jamie told himself to stop freaking out. This had been his idea, after all.

He was still speechless when Bran padded out of the bathroom, wearing a t-shirt and pants that matched the set he was carrying. Jamie also noticed that Bran looked tired and even thinner than he had been before.

The fairy held out Jamie’s clothes, and Jamie couldn’t help but notice the green-and-black knotted cord, studded with bones and amber and mother-of-pearl, tied around Bran’s wrist. Seeing it there made Jamie’s stomach feel warm and a little fuzzy, almost like he’d just swallowed a shot, even though he hadn’t.

Jamie forced himself to stop staring at it—and wondering where it had been on Bran when he was in bird form, and how he’d gotten it there without hands—and looked back up at Bran’s too-thin face.

Bran licked his lips and swallowed. When he spoke, it was clear he hadn’t spoken to anyone in a long time. At least not using human words. “I used them to spin some that actually fit.” He grimaced, then swallowed again, his throat clearly not used to human speech. “I dinna want to take yours.”

Jamie took the clothes, distracted from the bracelet by what Bran had said. “You… spin them?”

“Aye,” came the answer, some of the roughness starting to wear away. “We can spin—use magic to create—from anything that’s natural.” His lips quirked, as though unused to smiling. Jamie supposed that was true, since Bran had just had a beak for what seemed to have been quite a while. “It’s good you wear cotton clothes.”

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