by Jennifer Campbell-Hicks
The goose tumbled through Jayce's open kitchen window, getting its wings tangled in the curtains and pulling them down with a crash to the tiled floor. By the time the goose freed itself from the gauzy fabric, it was no longer a goose, but a man.
Jayce sat at the table with a mug of coffee. She tossed over the jeans and AC/DC T-shirt that the man had been wearing when she first had transformed him to a fowl. Her choice of animal had been deliberate because he was foul. Behind that handsome face and charming smile was the foulest man she had ever met.
He blinked. "Jayce? Where am I? What happened?"
She sipped her coffee, though it had gone cold, and waited for him to remember. Momentary confusion was understandable, like waking up in an unfamiliar bed, except magnified. As his disorientation vanished, his handsome face twisted into an ugly expression.
"You made me a goose!"
Jayce snorted. "You should be grateful. I gave you wings. I could have made you a squirrel. You could have spent the past year gathering nuts and dodging dogs and hawks."