Cindy Lawrence

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He might not have chosen the form of a dog, but it was infinitely better than being a house, most days. He hadn’t adjusted to the cost of using his magic now—confusion and disfigurement—so he tried to use it less, but magic had been all he could do for so long, it felt strange not to use it. He tried to occupy his time with reading, which was boring but necessary, he guessed.
Heir of Uncertain Magic (Whimbrel House, #2)
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