Chapter 2: Carter’s House, Carter’s Rules

In the end, I couldn’t escape their combined pressure. Dad scooped me up like a chick and carried me off.

He cleared his throat and called to the Guardian behind the screen, "Please take care of our Riley, Mr. Carter," bowing politely. I wanted to melt into the floor.

The person behind the screen only nodded slightly. I could barely make out his silhouette, tall and still as a statue.

After getting a reply, my dad set me down and slipped away, thoughtfully closing the door behind him. No escape now.

Leaving me trembling to face Carter. I swallowed hard, wishing I could disappear.

Although I was scared, my curiosity was strong. I peeked around the room, taking in the shelves full of old books and the faint smell of cedar.

Last time, I only saw Carter through the screen, not his face, but those eyes left a deep impression—sharp and cold, like winter ice.

I heard Quinn and the others say Carter is even older than Uncle Henry. Thinking of Uncle Henry’s long white beard, I pictured Carter with a beard down to his knees, rocking in a chair by the fire. It made me giggle, despite my nerves.

Maybe Carter’s a little old man—that’s why he doesn’t show his face and always sits behind the screen? I imagined him shuffling around in slippers, muttering about the good old days.

"Your name is Riley, right?" The voice was deeper and more musical than I expected, cutting through my daydream. I jumped, feathers fluffing up involuntarily.

My legs started shaking uncontrollably, and I stammered, "Y-Yes, that’s my nickname." I ducked my head, feeling my cheeks grow hot. I wished the floor would swallow me up.

I lowered my head and peeked up at Mr. Carter, just a shadow behind the screen, but I could feel his eyes on me. Strangely, his voice was pleasant—like spring water over rocks, crisp and clear, without a trace of age.

"Am I that scary?" Carter stared at my trembling body, his tone curious, not mocking. I tried to pull myself together.

"No." I blurted, but my voice cracked at the end. My slightly trembling feathers gave me away.

He chuckled softly—then doubled over in a rough coughing fit, pulling his coat tighter. I felt a pang of concern.

I didn’t dare say anything, standing stiffly and staring at my claws, hoping he’d forget I was there.

After a while, when he recovered, he waved his hand, clearing his throat. “You can relax.”

"Riley, right? I remember. Go now, someone will take you to your room." He sounded tired, but not unkind.

"Aren’t I staying with you?" I blurted out before I could stop myself. I slapped a wing over my beak, mortified. My heart pounded in my chest. Why did I have to say that?

Damn, Uncle Henry said staying with Carter would help my transformation, so I asked impulsively. My bad. I mentally kicked myself. Way to make a first impression, Riley.

Carter paused, then continued, "My health isn’t great and I can’t teach you much. The rest is up to you." His voice was distant, as if he was already lost in thought.

I bobbed my head, eager to escape before I said anything else embarrassing. I slipped out, shutting the door with a soft click. My legs felt like jelly.

Leaning against the door, I breathed a sigh of relief, not knowing that inside, the usually aloof Carter was playing with a piece of rabbit fur. Who would have thought the famous Guardian is obsessed with fluff?

He clenched his fists, forcing himself to focus on the rabbit fur instead. "Phoenix? Looks more like a fuzzy chick," he muttered, and coughed.

Having escaped disaster, I was about to tear around the house like usual when a woman dressed as a housekeeper blocked my way—arms crossed, eyes narrowed, her name tag reading “Ms. Johnson.”

"Are you the new one who pulled strings to get in?!" Her voice was sharp as she looked me up and down, lips pursed in disapproval. I straightened my back, trying to look taller.

I noticed the badge at her waist—she was a senior maid in Carter’s estate. It was shiny and gold, and she wore it like a badge of honor.

Since it was my first day here, I decided not to cause trouble for Carter and held back, forcing a smile. "I’m new, but why say I’m here through connections?"

I looked small next to her, not exactly intimidating. Damn.

She towered over me, making me feel like a little kid again.

"I saw your dad bring you here. A wild chick who can’t even transform wants to be Carter’s assistant?" Her voice dripped with sarcasm, and I bristled.

I was momentarily speechless, my beak opening and closing. Me? Wild chick? Carter’s assistant? I almost laughed at the idea.

"You’re right." I rolled my eyes and stepped past her, deciding I was too magnanimous to argue with her.

Uncle Henry said there were special cookies for me today, and that was all I was thinking about. I was in a hurry, but the maid blocked my way again, sidestepping, arms outstretched like a linebacker. "Stop," she said, raising her chin.

I was getting annoyed. "What do you want?" I tried to keep my voice steady, but it came out sharper than I intended.

She glared at me, holding her head high, practically talking through her nose. "Don’t you know the house rules? No manners. I’ve served Carter for decades. As a newcomer, you should call me Miss. I’m the most trusted here. Don’t think you can replace me just because you have family connections."

She looked proud and a bit lovestruck as she spoke. I caught a dreamy look in her eyes whenever she mentioned Carter. Oh boy.

Suddenly I understood—she was showing off her status and afraid I’d compete for Carter’s attention. I thought of Carter’s age and shook my head regretfully. So young and already in love with an old man? She must’ve watched too many soap operas.

She wanted me to call her “Miss”? Is she serious? I may look young, but I’m over thirty—and I outrank her. Maybe my pitying gaze was too much; her expression changed.

She bristled, sensing I wasn’t taking her seriously. "What kind of look is that?" she snapped. I raised my brows with a smile, "I don’t know what you mean, but don’t worry, I have no interest in being the head maid."

She seemed to hate being called a maid, biting her lip until all color was gone. "Being a maid is only temporary. I’ll be the Guardian’s official wife in the future," she announced, eyes full of ambition.

I had to bite my tongue to keep from laughing. Carter? Married? Not in this lifetime. If Carter wanted a wife, he’d have one by now.

"Go wash up and sleep," I tossed out, trying to leave. She chased after me, pestering, "What do you mean? It’s daytime."

"Yeah, and you’re already dreaming." I shook my feathers, not wanting to argue. She didn’t get the joke.

"You’re mocking me?!" Her voice was so shrill it hurt my ears. Just like those boys—slow to catch on. Some people never learn.

I quickened my pace, trying to shake her off, but she was sneaky and tripped me. I stepped hard on her foot. She screamed, and I slipped and fell.

It all happened in a blur—her screech, my stumble, the hard thud as I hit the floor. I saw stars and sat on the ground for a while before I recovered.

Finally getting up, I stared at a feather that had fallen to the ground, my pupils shrinking. My heart dropped. That feather had been with me for years.

I glared coldly at the maid, still crying in pain. The feather I’d worked so hard to care for was gone, just like that. I hadn’t even said goodbye to it.

I felt tears prick my eyes. It was silly, but it hurt. You never should’ve made my feather fall! That was the last straw.

Anger burned in my chest, making it heave. I clenched my fists, trying to keep it together.

"Riley lost a feather..." the butler reported to Uncle Henry, sounding like he was announcing a national emergency.

"What—Riley lost a feather?!" Uncle Henry was shocked. He dropped his coffee, eyes wide. The whole house seemed to hold its breath.

This finally got Uncle Henry’s attention. He dropped his paperwork and rushed over, nearly tripping over his own feet in his hurry.

He was one of the few who knew how precious my feathers were and how much effort I put into caring for them. I used the most expensive conditioner to wash my feathers every week. Mom would joke about my “spa days,” but I took feather care seriously.

When I was little and lost a feather flying kites with the boys, I cried for days and no one could comfort me. They tried everything—ice cream, cartoons, even a new kite—but nothing helped. I even said I wanted to hold a funeral for my feather.

I’d picked out a tiny shoebox and everything. Mom still teases me about it. My only advantage was my abundant feathers, and I paid a great price to protect them.

My mom could only trick me, saying the ugly duckling would become a swan, that I was just a late bloomer, and that transformation was inevitable. Only then did I calm down. The funeral for my feather was also forgotten.

Eventually, I moved on, but I never forgot how much it hurt. Now, seeing the feather on the ground, Uncle Henry wore the same expression as me—devastated.

"Who did it?" His voice was sharp, demanding answers. Uncle Henry looked worried and serious, kneeling beside me, picking up the feather with trembling hands.

The maid knelt in terror, as if she had stolen the greatest treasure in the world instead of just a feather. She shook, eyes wide, clearly realizing she’d messed up big time.

"I—I didn’t mean to, please forgive me, Uncle Henry." She pleaded, voice barely above a whisper.

Uncle Henry sighed, "You made Riley’s feather fall; begging me is useless." He shook his head, disappointment etched on his face.

My name was well-known in the neighborhood, and with Uncle Henry and Aunt Victoria’s favor, I could walk anywhere—except perhaps for Carter’s estate. The maid had clearly heard of me; her face turned even paler, and she nervously swallowed, remembering her earlier words. She didn’t have enough heads to lose in this house.

She clutched her badge, eyes darting around for an escape. She hurriedly bowed in panic. Thud, thud, the dull sound kept coming. Each bow was more desperate than the last. I almost felt bad for her.

I was still staring blankly at my beloved feather, trying to remember its name. I whispered to myself, “Was it Daisy? Or Sunny?” I used to name each feather out of boredom.

I’d even kept a little notebook of names, just for fun. Lost in thought, the bowing interrupted me. The sound was so loud, it snapped me back to reality.

Looking at the maid whose forehead was already bleeding, blood trickling down her face, but who didn’t dare stop, I didn’t feel any satisfaction. My anger faded quickly.

I raised my wing to stop her. “Enough, you’ll hurt yourself,” I said softly.

"Forget it—it’s bad luck to see blood," I said with a wave, wanting to dismiss her. I tried to sound stern, but my heart wasn’t in it.

Uncle Henry said, "Rules are rules. Go face the consequences." His tone brooked no argument. The maid nodded, wiping her face.

"Yes." She got up shakily and left the room. The maid breathed a sigh of relief and left with her head down.

She shot me a grateful look before disappearing down the hall. She deeply regretted her impulsiveness, treating me like a maid and even insulting me. I could see it in her eyes—she’d think twice before crossing me again.

I bent down, grabbed the feather, and put it away, then looked up to see Uncle Henry handing me a box of cookies. He smiled, holding out my favorite treat. I perked up immediately.

It was my favorite apricot shortbread, and I swallowed greedily. The smell alone made my mouth water. I could never resist those cookies.

My eyes followed the box as Uncle Henry pulled out two, telling me to save one for Carter. I nodded, but secretly planned to eat both myself.

I agreed, but didn’t really listen. He winked at me, knowing exactly what I was thinking. These apricot cookies from uptown were truly top-notch.

I savored every bite, crumbs falling onto my lap. I didn’t notice Carter standing not far behind, watching me finish the cookies and then return to my room with a light laugh.

He leaned against the doorway, a rare smile on his lips. I blushed, embarrassed to be caught mid-cookie.

There was a maple tree in the backyard. I glanced around. The leaves rustled in the breeze, casting dappled shadows on the grass. It was the perfect spot.

Wow, this was a great place to bury my feather. It felt peaceful, almost sacred.

So I started digging a hole. I used my claw to scoop out the earth, careful not to disturb the roots. Halfway through, I hit a hard stone, hurting my claw.

I winced, shaking out my hand. Whatever it was, it was wedged in tight. I dug it out and examined it in the sunlight.

It was smooth and cool, with strange markings etched into its surface. Weighing it in my palm, it wasn’t heavy and had no energy. It felt ordinary, but something about it made me pause.

The stone was dull in color with unknown patterns on it. The designs looked almost ancient, like something out of a museum.

I casually tossed it aside. I figured it was just another rock, nothing special.

The punished maid returned and saw it, looking terrified. She gasped, eyes wide as she spotted the stone.

"You—how could you dig up Carter’s treasure?" She clapped a hand over her mouth, staring at me in horror.

I patted the dirt off my claw. Carter’s treasure? I shrugged, not seeing the big deal.

I looked at the stone I had just dug up and tossed aside. I picked it up, turning it over in my hand, trying to see what all the fuss was about.

Could these ordinary stones really be treasures? It looked like something you’d skip across a pond.

The maid rushed over, ignoring her injured hand, trying to save it and put it back. She snatched it from me, cradling it like a baby.

"It’s over. Carter’s treasure that he cared for years is gone." She wailed, rocking back and forth.

I quickly put down my shovel. I didn’t want to make things worse.

Grabbing the stone, I saw the patterns fading. A chill ran down my spine. Maybe this was more important than I thought.

My heart skipped a beat. I was in trouble. I glanced around, hoping nobody else had seen.

I remembered Carter’s intimidating presence behind the screen and nervously swallowed. Would he kill me as a warning?

I broke out in a cold sweat. Was this how it all ended? Is it too late to run now?

I considered making a break for it, but my legs wouldn’t move. Before I could take a step, a voice came from Carter’s study.