Dr. Mara Bell kept a tidy office. The walls were a soft green, the chairs were comfortable but not indulgent, and the bookshelf held professional titles on grief, conflict resolution, and household boundaries. On the low table between the chairs sat a box of tissues, a brass sand timer, and a shallow ceramic dish labeled FOR CURSED COINS ONLY.

At exactly two o’clock, the coat closet coughed.

It was not a polite cough. It was the sort of cough one heard from an elderly chimney after a long winter of burning damp logs. The closet door burst open, and a tall wizard in violet robes came sprawling out onto the rug, hat askew, staff clattering across the floor.

Dr. Bell looked up from her notes. “Master Elowen, good afternoon. I see you used the closet again.”

“I was not given a choice,” said Master Elowen, rising with immense dignity for a man who had just been ejected from a storage space. “The old transit sigil in my tower has been compromised by treachery and feathers.”

From the closet came a second sound: a soft, deliberate step.

A goose emerged.

It did not tumble, stumble, or appear transported. It walked calmly onto the rug as though it had always intended to arrive at precisely this moment. Its white feathers were spotless, its orange beak was lifted with noble contempt, and its eyes held the steady confidence of a creature who had won several arguments before breakfast.

Dr. Bell smiled. “And this must be Her Grace.”

The goose gave one sharp honk.

“Please sit,” Dr. Bell said.

The wizard sat in the left chair with the tight posture of a man determined not to be perturbed. The goose climbed into the right chair with no assistance, settled itself neatly, and tucked its feet beneath it. Dr. Bell made a note, not because she needed to, but because wizards often respected a note more than a sentence.

“Last time,” Dr. Bell said, “we discussed shared tower space, unannounced cursework in common areas, and the incident with the reflecting pool.”

Master Elowen folded his hands over the head of his staff. “A minor incident.”

The goose honked twice.

Dr. Bell glanced toward the goose, then back to him. “She seems to feel the word ‘minor’ does not fully capture it.”

“It was one future,” Elowen said. “One possible future. And not even a particularly clear one. There was fog. One cannot be held accountable for fog.”

The goose stretched its neck and released a long, offended series of honks.

Elowen’s beard twitched. “Do not use that tone of voice with me.”

Dr. Bell raised one hand gently. “Master Elowen, let’s pause there. Remember, in this room we try to describe the feeling underneath the reaction.”

“The feeling underneath,” he repeated, as though translating from a vulgar dialect. “Very well. The feeling underneath is that I am being persecuted in my own tower by a waterfowl with no formal apprenticeship and an inflated sense of ritual authority.”

The goose honked once, cleanly.

“No,” Elowen snapped. “Borrowing my ceremonial slippers does not make you an officiant.”

Dr. Bell adjusted her glasses. “I’m hearing that there may be a disagreement about roles in the household.”

“It is not a household,” Elowen said. “It is a sanctum.”

The goose honked.

“It is not our sanctum, it is my sanctum.”

The goose honked again, slower this time.

Elowen turned red. “I did not say that during the eclipse. I said, ‘Guard the lower sanctum while I fetch the silver ladle.’ That is not a transfer of ownership. That is delegation.”

Dr. Bell let the silence breathe for a moment. The clock ticked softly on the mantel. Outside the window, rain moved down the glass in clean vertical lines, and a crow on the sill politely pretended not to listen.

“Her Grace,” Dr. Bell said, “could you share what you would like Master Elowen to understand?”

The goose sat taller.

It honked for nearly thirty seconds.

Master Elowen looked away.

Dr. Bell waited.

At last, he muttered, “She says I only consult her judgment when something is beneath me. Cellars. Moats. Minor hauntings. Doorways that bite. And when the matter is important, I call the council, or the moon, or that insufferable oak with opinions.”

The goose gave a small, dignified nod.

Dr. Bell nodded as well. “That sounds painful. Not being recognized for the wisdom you bring.”

Elowen cleared his throat. “It is a goose.”

The goose stared at him.

He swallowed. “A very persistent goose.”

Dr. Bell leaned slightly forward. “Master Elowen, can you say what you are afraid would happen if you treated her as a true advisor?”

“I am not afraid.”

The goose honked softly.

“I am not perturbed either,” he added.

Dr. Bell waited again.

Elowen’s fingers tightened around his staff. “If I admit she is right about the tower wards, then I must also admit she has been right before. About the mirror hall. About the attic basilisk. About the soup ladle.”

The goose made a quiet sound.

“Yes,” he said, very stiffly. “And about the hat.”

Dr. Bell softened her voice. “That is a difficult thing to admit.”

Elowen looked at the goose. For the first time since he had been coughed into the room, his shoulders lowered. “I dislike needing help from someone who bites my ankles when I wear blue robes.”

The goose honked.

“She says blue robes makes me sound arrogant.”

Dr. Bell wrote one line in her notebook. “Perhaps this week, the goal is not full agreement. Perhaps the goal is one formal consultation before any warding, summoning, or ceremonial slipper decisions.”

The goose nodded immediately.

Elowen sighed with the exhaustion of an ancient man defeated by reason. “Fine. One consultation. But she knocks before entering my study.”

The goose honked.

Elowen closed his eyes. “And she says I knock before entering hers.”

Dr. Bell smiled. “Excellent. Mutual respect.”

The coat closet coughed again.

Elowen stood, gathering his robes. “Come along, then.”

The goose stepped down from the chair, passed him without hurry, and entered the closet first.

Elowen looked at Dr. Bell. “She is going to make me take the long way.”

From inside the closet came one proud honk.