Firebird of Glass

by Zoe Chant

  Firebird of Glass

  Zoe Chant

  Copyright © 2021 by Zoe Chant

  Cover by Ellen Million

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Fae Shifter Knights

  Four shifter knights from a faery world are trapped in glass ornament avatars and find themselves in a strange world of vacuum cleaners, BigMarts, and ham sandwiches, bound to human keys who can unlock the power in their hearts.

  Fae Shifter Knights is a sizzling portal fantasy paranormal romance series with side-splitting humor, thrilling adventure, and heart. Each stand-alone novel features noble heroes and brave, resourceful heroines, adorable pets, and one bad-tempered, non-binary fae.

  Although this novel, Firebird of Glass, stands alone, this is the final book in the series, and it will make the most sense to read the books in order:

  Dragon of Glass (book 1)

  Unicorn of Glass(book 2)

  Gryphon of Glass (book 3)

  You can also enjoy the first three books in one convenient box set.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Epilogue

  A Thank You from Zoe

  Other Work by Zoe Chant

  The Book I’m not Writing

  Chapter 1

  Ansel wasn’t sure when he’d gotten used to having a big house full of people and pets and a foul-tempered fable.

  The quiet was weird now, with most of them gone.

  “I can hold,” he said patiently into his phone. He stood up and paced to the kitchen.

  Fabio, a golden-haired afghan hound, feared this meant further abandonment and followed him from the living room anxiously, pressing close to Ansel’s knees. Tiny Vesta, a miniature Italian greyhound, startled from sleep, barked in a moment of alarm and then scampered down off the couch to follow them, making nervous, trembling circles.

  “Would you guys relax?” Ansel said in gentle disgust. “I’m just going into the next room.” When there was an expression of confusion at the other end of the phone, he hastily added, “No, not you, sorry, just the dogs! I’m calling to follow up on an email regarding the repair of a glass ornament...”

  He was braced for the disappointing reply by now, thanked the artist for her time, and hung up.

  “Superglue,” he said in disbelief. This was the fourth glass crafter with the same answer: they couldn’t repair broken glass. They could make a new ornament, or he could put the pieces together with superglue.

  “Superglue!” he repeated in outrage, rummaging through one of the kitchen drawers to see if he even had any. They were suggesting that he superglue the pieces of a magical firebird ornament that housed a faery knight from another world together and just...hope that it worked.

  And the worst part was that he didn’t have a better idea.

  The pieces in question were laid out on the counter, about a dozen chunks of red glass that had been spread wings, a long, swan-like neck, and a flaming tail. They were big pieces, at least, not a hopeless mess of shards, and the largest piece of all was the unbroken ring of white.

  Henrik, Rez, and Trey had all puzzled mournfully over the parts of their shieldmate, Tadra, and tried all the tricks in their enchanted arsenal before declaring that there was no magic that they knew that could put her back together.

  “Perhaps her key can magic her back together?” Ansel had suggested. “Or Robin?”

  “I do not believe that either of them could call her from a broken vessel,” Henrik said, frowning. A gryphon shifter, he was the knight most skilled at magic. “The ornament must be repaired in mundane fashion before magic could be worked on it.”

  “It is possible even her key could only bring her back in pieces if her avatar was not whole,” Rez said mournfully. “I do not know if I could mend her human body.” He was a unicorn shifter, with a specialty for healing.

  “Robin was not able to free us from our glass prisons at all,” Trey added. “But they may know what to do next.”

  Robin, their fable mentor, had been missing for more than a month now, hunting for Tadra’s key in Ecuador. The knights from the faery world and their paired human keys had decided to try to find Robin shortly after the package with Tadra’s broken avatar arrived in the mail, fearing the worst from their long absence.

  Ansel was given the task of repairing the firebird...and taking care of the pets.

  “It falls to you, landlord of light, to try to repair our shieldmate,” Rez said solemnly. “Your world has wondrous crafters and miracles of technology. We trust you with the sister of our heart.”

  “You have fixed many things for us,” Henrik added, looking sheepish and probably thinking about the garage door mechanism that he’d broken throwing an axe in frustration.

  “You are an admirable hound-keeper,” Trey said, ruffling Fabio’s ears.

  Ansel tried to feel honored by their trust, instead of just sidelined by his own mundanity.

  He had to shove Fabio to one side now to try another drawer in his hunt for the right glue. White school glue wasn’t going to cut it.

  “Well,” he said out loud, “you wanted to play some role in this grand fantasy adventure.”

  It was a lot of pressure being the only mortal man in a house full of fae shifter knights from another world. They could turn into a magnificent dragon, unicorn, and gryphon respectively, and with the assistance of their human keys, Daniella, Heather, and Gwen, could work actual magic.

  Ansel? Ansel could pay the utilities and provide the house and put things back together when the knights were foiled by modern appliances.

  With a battle to forestall the end of the world from galloping down on them, it didn’t feel like his role was all that important.

  Ansel was still bending over the junk drawer when he heard Vesta’s telltale whine of greeting and there was a soft thunk at the end of the counter. “No, Socks, hssst!” he warned, and he stood up just in time to stop the Siamese from stalking right into the broken glass with a feline’s disregard for anything fragile. Socks crouched down and glared at Ansel, not quite daring to walk past him on the counter. Unfortunately, Vesta thought that Socks had established a free-for-all for all pets on the counter, took a running start, and flung herself upwards.

  “Nope!” Ansel intercepted the tiny Italian Greyhound mid-air and placed her back on the floor, whining in protest and dancing on her clacking claws.

  Socks took his moment of distraction as an invitation and continued her march along the counter. One of the glass pieces chimed warningly against another and Ansel swept in to pluck her up and deposit her on the floor.

  She hissed, swiping claws at
Ansel. Vesta could not resist such temptation, barking and mock-charging, but she kept her distance; she’d been at the receiving end of those claws often enough to learn caution. Fabio whined and leaned against Ansel beseechingly.

  Ansel carefully folded the glass shards back into the bubble wrap and tucked them into the box they’d come in, then waded with it through the tense standoff to return to his second-floor bedroom and shut the door on the dogs, who were not interested in letting him—the last human of the house!—out of their sight. Vesta yelped for a time and he could hear Fabio’s heartbroken sighs as the afghan leaned against the door in defeat. Socks was undoubtedly back on the counter licking the faucet at the kitchen sink, just to be contrary.

  Ansel found a tube of superglue in the back of his desk drawer and carefully unpacked Tadra’s ornament once more, spreading each part out in order.

  As puzzles went, it wasn’t that difficult to figure out how everything fit together. The white ring was miraculously whole, and there were only sixteen pieces of the phoenix.

  The first two shards, a clawed foot and a sheared leg, were the hardest—more because Ansel was still appalled by the idea of using superglue on a magical vessel than that it was an actual challenge to his dexterity. He stopped breathing altogether as he was applying the glue and then held the pieces together much longer than the instructions said, peeling his fingers off slowly and holding it up to the light.

  It was a good seal and at some angles, he couldn’t even see the break. Maybe this was going to work. He cautiously tested the bond and the joint didn’t flex in the slightest.

  The worst of it after that was the waiting between each joint, holding the parts carefully together until his hands cramped, meticulous about not letting it shift in his grip and spoil the seal. He tried not to think too hard about failing, about somehow making things worse with his efforts, and wished he’d thought of turning on music or television. On the other hand, he didn’t want to be distracted from what was probably the most important, meticulous task he’d ever attempted.

  Vesta finally quieted, which was probably an indication that she’d found something to destroy to punish Ansel for abandoning her. Fabio occasionally turned over noisily just outside the door and gave a great mournful huff of breath. Socks yowled from downstairs at one point, undoubtedly lodging a complaint about her water dish or litter box.

  Ansel only glued himself to the glass once, peeling the skin off his fingertips after the joint had finally cured. The joint looked clean after he rubbed off the excess glue, so hopefully, a little flesh in the glue wouldn’t harm anything.

  The firebird slowly took form from the pieces and Ansel felt a swell of satisfaction in his chest. It was delicate work, exacting and demanding, and the beautiful result was worth the time and patience. He held the final parts together and tried not to fidget.

  Socks had stepped up the volume and frequency of her grievances, Vesta was yipping again, and Fabio was sniveling. Ansel’s shoulders ached from hunching over the work so long. It was late and the dogs probably needed to go out, but he was so close to the end.

  The red glass reflected like blood on his palms as Ansel cupped the firebird, focusing on keeping his grip steady. The superglue bottle said to hold for only a minute, but not to disturb the parts for at least ten minutes, and he was taking no chances. He watched the computer clock to make sure that nothing, including putting down the ornament, disrupted the cure.

  Ten minutes had never seemed so long and his fingers were cramped from holding so long and hard, having to be so careful not to slip on the smooth glass.

  If only…

  Ansel tried not to let himself be jealous; he had plenty to be grateful for.

  But watching the knights bond with their keys woke a longing in his soul that he never expected. To have a love like they had, a perfect partner like that...Ansel would have given anything for such a connection. He felt like an afterthought in their story, the sidekick, or the stranger at the crossroads. He was the sage advice, not the hero of the saga.

  And he’d never win the princess...or in this case, the knight.

  After all, Robin had cast a spell dowsing—searching—for Tadra’s true key, and it had led them unerringly to South America.

  The clock on the computer ticked past the allotted minute and Ansel released his fingers and let the firebird rest loosely in his hands. Tipping it into the light of the desk lamp betrayed the seams in turn, a slash of light in every place it had broken, but he could barely feel them when he ran fingers over each one.

  The ornament was whole again, as whole as it would ever be, and there was no urgent desire or whispered words the way the keys had described their first encounters with their captive knights. There had been no call when Ansel first found all four of the ornaments, almost two years ago.

  No matter how much he wanted to be, Ansel wasn’t her key.

  He nestled the firebird back down into the bubble wrap and stood up, rolling his protesting shoulders back.

  The dogs heard him through the closed door and went ballistic, circling and whimpering in a near-frenzy. When he opened the door, he found the remains of one of the uglier couch cushions, torn into pieces across the hall.

  “Who did this?” he demanded, looking at Vesta knowingly.

  It was Fabio who looked most guilty, of course, but the smaller hound was the one with stuffing hanging from her mouth.

  “I hope you didn’t eat enough of it to make you sick,” Ansel scolded her. “Heather would never forgive me.”

  Vesta’s ears went flat back against her head and her eyes, already bulging in the fashion of her breed, went wild. Did she recognize her mistress’s name? Ansel wasn’t sure how smart the creature was—sometimes she seemed very clever, but she also ran repeatedly into walls and was scared of Christmas lights and crinkly bags.

  “C’mon, you guys probably need to go out.”

  After he’d brought the dogs back inside, fed them, and rearranged the food in Socks’s bowl to make it look full again, he climbed back up the stairs to his room, rubbing his sore fingers. Probably the fingerprints he’d rubbed off with glue would grow back.

  He left the door open and Fabio and Vesta, after investigating the entire house in case their real people had quietly returned while they were eating, came in to compete for sleeping space on his big bed. Vesta took up a shocking amount of space for her tiny size and Fabio was not a small dog. Eventually, Socks would creep up and claim a spot at Ansel’s feet—once it was late enough that she didn’t look needy.

  Ansel pulled off his shoes and socks, wiggling his toes in the plush carpet. Fabio was groaning and rolling around on his back with his paws in the air while Vesta burrowed down into the blankets, scratching with her claws.

  Ansel was drawn back to the desk; a chance red reflection from the desk lamp shining on the ornament made the box look like it was on fire. He picked it up, his touch hopeful, but there was only his own yearning for something more, no immediate magical connection, no call to his soul.

  He wasn’t Tadra’s key.

  And his kiss wouldn’t unlock her.

  Later, he wasn’t sure what it was that prompted him to brush his lips against it anyway. Did he think he’d regret not trying? Was there some shred of hope at the bottom of his empty heart? He certainly didn’t expect it to work...and he nearly dropped the ornament when it did.

  Chapter 2

  The first thing Tadra knew again was pain.

  She was shattered, the flame of her firebird soul fractured and burning its way through her human body. She tried to scream and failed, as memory flooded back like a landslide: battle, her shieldmates at her side, spells colliding in wild chaos, confused and unending imprisonment, and now this...

  There was a strange, handsome man standing before her, his skin warm brown and his hair bleached golden-yellow, and Tadra struck out before she could think or make sense of the bizarre, dim-lit room.

  She had no weapons, not even clothin
g, but she still caught him by surprise, realizing too late that he was holding the glass ornament that had been her prison for so long. They both watched in horror as it slipped from his grasp as she hit him. It fell—undamaged!—to a floor that seemed made of a dry fiber moss.

  He scrambled after it. “It’s okay. It’s not broken,” he exclaimed, standing with it cradled again in his hands. “I’m not going to hurt you!”

  Tadra opened her mouth to protest that she was a knight of the crown and had no fear of him and found that the words burned in her throat and made no sound. He had enspelled her voice? Who was this upstart witch in his fancy trousers and curious workroom?

  Tadra tried again to speak, to demand to know what he was doing with her glass firebird vessel and where this place was. Even if it did not hurt quite so much the second time, she was still quite incapable of making even a single strangled noise.

  She turned in a circle, taking in the incomprehensible room. A dark, framed mirror—for scrying perhaps?—shelves of books, and a wide bed draped in rich blankets. There were wild creatures on it, rising to defend their master—a half-hound, half-horse with a floating golden mane, she thought, and the other seemed to be a hairless rat. There were no weapons at hand to take up, so she shifted to fight them back.

  At first, she thought the world had expanded around her. She ought to fill the room with her firebird glory, but the walls stretched out in all directions and she realized in horror that she was impossibly tiny, barely the size of a songbird. The hound-things were excited by her shift and rose, baying and jumping. The witch flung himself between them, hollering an enchantment that involved words of power—vesta and fabio and dammitdumbmutts!—as he tried to keep the ornament safely out of their reach and prevent them from jumping at her all at once.