I feel sick to my stomach and I don’t think it’s the aftereffects of last night’s beer. It’s time to make tracks so I can talk to H about this.
“Have either of you spotted anything else odd out here?” As though talking sheep isn’t weird enough. But I’ve come here, I’d better make sure nothing else is amiss.
“That flower bed behind you needs weeding, but I guess that’s to be expected with all us gardeners stuck in sheep bodies. Other than that, no.”
“Thanks for your help. It was nice to meet you both. Enjoy the rest of your day.”
Vern and Steve are still arguing with one another as I pivot towards the carpark. If any peacock comes between me and that car, it will definitely regret it. I was right about one thing. The magic isn’t disappearing. It’s leaking.
Chapter Fourteen
For the first time since I’ve arrived in Oxford, I pull a car into the drive in front of my flat. Harry reassured me I could leave her car anywhere on college grounds, and given the mountain of groceries in my boot, I aimed for as close to my front door as possible.
I drop my muddy wellies on the front steps and hope that no one tries to walk off with them. I know they were only a few quid, but what’s the likelihood I’ll find another pair of them on the clearance rack? Not happening. On second thought, I stash them in the bushes.
I kick open the front door, juggling shopping bags in my hands. “H, I’m home. Are you still alive?”
H is draped across the window seat, looking like a giant lizard as he absorbs sun rays with a damp cloth over this forehead. Other than flinching at my abrupt entrance, he shows no other signs of life. “Stop yer shoutin’, Nat. My loaf is slicin’ itself inta pieces as we speak.”
Guess he isn’t recovered from the hangover yet. This news ought to help. As I set my shopping bags onto the kitchen counter, I call out in a singsong voice. “Oh Aitchhhhhh, the magic isn’t disappearinggggg.”
H struggles back into a sitting position before pumping his wings to fly-lurch his way into the kitchen. He skids to a stop, barely avoiding landing in the sink. I watch in awe as he pops a couple of paracetamol into his mouth, chugging water straight from the tap. He looks up at me with hope in his bloodshot eyes and asks, “It’s not? ‘Ow d’ya know?”
I pause my unpacking to look over at him. “You told me to check the border, so I did.”
H gives up his effort to remain vertical, sliding down to lie across the kitchen counter. “Wot border?”
“The magical border. You know, the edge of how far the magic should be accessible? We had a whole conversation about this last night.” Leaning carefully over H, I put my canned goods away in a cupboard. He doesn’t show any signs of remembering our conversation, so I try again. “Do you remember any of what you said? You advised me to go to the Arboretum.”
Shivering, H gets a pained look on his face. “I ‘ate that place and all them screechy bird brains. Sound like somebody’s dyin’. Sendin’ ya ta check it out wasn’t a ‘alf bad idea. Drunk H is a pretty bright feller.” He tries to pat himself on the back of a wing but rolls over instead.
Nudging him back onto the safety of the counter, I grumble, “I nearly had a showdown with one of those peacocks while trying to get into the car. Pretended like it couldn’t understand a word I was saying, but it moved quickly when I started weighing the idea of a peacock feather shawl.”
“Iffen drunk H didn’t warn ya bout them birds, he shoulda. But back ta tha magic. Wot’d ya find down there?”
“I found Vern and Steve.” Sipping from my water glass, I wait to see if H knows the pair.
“Vern and Steve?” H scratches his chin in confusion. “I don’t think I know a Vern or a Steve. Are they wispies? Old researchers or gard’ners?”
“They used to be. Now they’re sheep.”
“Sheep? Baa baa sheep? ‘Ow’d they end up as animals iffen they was already Eternals?”
“That’s the million-pound question. One minute they were Eternal gardeners, weeding for all of eternity. The next minute they were chomping down on grass in a meadow.”
I don’t know whether it is the hangover or my story, but H seems to get more confused with every word I say. “Sheep? At tha arboretum? But there ain’t any sheep at tha Arboretum. Tha peacocks won’t share tha space with another animal. Are ya sure ya were at tha Arboretum? Did ya see a sign?”
“I saw the signs, I bought an entrance ticket, I fought off the peacocks. I was definitely 100% in the right place. But that’s my point, H. Vern and Steve weren’t at the Arboretum. They were in a nearby meadow on the other side of the border. They weren’t the only sheep in the field who could chat. They bragged about a sheep gossip network that stretches all the way to Berkshire.”
H opens and closes his mouth a few times as he struggles to make sense of my words.
“But that’s impossible! Tha magical field only works in Oxford and Cambridge. Everyone knows that. That’s ‘ow they set it up, and that’s ‘ow it’s been fer tha last three ‘undred and somethin’ years.”
“Not anymore, it’s not. Now we’ve got sheep setting up a social network.” Pushing off from the counter, I head towards the living room, calling out behind me, “While I bring the rest of the shopping in, can you see if you can get Kate and Mathilde on a call?”
I toss H my phone before going out the door.
I double-check the shrubbery
