To set the stage: A magician---a sorcerer---called to help find a lost little boy on Christmas Eve. He balks, says he will lose himself (for true magical power steals the human heart out of a man), but in the end relents and sends his pet, a wee snowy owl named Merlin, into the winter air for the proper ingredients. The spell is cast, the lad located, and the lady of the house rushes to inform the search party....

"She left, but Spinrod sat on the floor, stroking the limp body of his owl."

Thus ends Chapter 7. And thus does Chapter 8 begin:

"No, no, no. Only the evildoers die in fairy tales, not the heroes or their pets. Definitely not their pets."

This is why I love romance novels. Especially the light Christmas confections like Barbara Metzger's "The Enchanted Earl." Especially this time of year. Sigh.

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