Therein, long tables waited and were heaped with pies of every kind. Everyone who had ever bought from, loved, and admired Helgatha had made a pie for her in thanks for the many pies she’d made for others. There was barely room at the table for another pie. Every manner of pie from apple to bloomberry to rose custard to chocolate to lemon sat there. Along with the pies were other tables with a bounty of food, collected from venues all over town, all her favorites.
“Look at all those pies,” Helgatha gasped.
The orcs set the litter down, and Thistle Jack, a human farmer and good friend of Helgatha, took Helgatha’s hand, helping her forward.
I joined her. “All made by the people who love you. Thank you, Helgatha. Happy retirement,” I said with a smile.
The dwarven lady patted my arm as she passed me by. “Beautiful. Beautiful as always, Primrose,” she said, then headed into her party, her friends following behind her. I smiled, my heart warmed to see the old woman surrounded by her dearest friends. With a flick of the wrist, I cast an enchantment on the room, enhancing the sweet scents of the pies and washing the room with lighthearted cheer. Everyone seemed so happy. Planning her party had been a simple affair. She was a woman who would be best served by love, surrounded by her family and friends, enjoying the magic of a life well-lived.
But even as I recognized my magic at work, seeing the positive effect, a niggling doubt weighed on me. Was it really magic? I wasn’t conjuring any great spellwork here. Sure, I knew a few tricks to make things pleasant, but other than that, wasn’t it just keen observation, an elevated sense of taste, and a little sparkle? Was that actually magic?
I pushed the thought away, drowning it with a smile.
Helgatha looked happy.
Her party was perfect.
But the next party I had to plan… That one came with a seven-foot, stone-hearted, and perpetually grumpy complication that could not be escaped.
I sighed heavily, then turned back to the scene before me.
Person after person came to Helgatha, congratulating her on her retirement and showing off their pies.
Helgatha clasped her hands in excitement when someone turned up with a dwarven golden bean cream pie. I had never tried it before, but the pure gold glimmer coming off the pie gave it away. It looked beautiful.
I only hoped one day I would be as well-loved as Helgatha, surrounded by friends and family, everyone there to cheer me on.
That was truly a life well-lived.
I opened my pocket watch, noting the time.
But for now, I had to go convince someone who didn’t live life at all that there was such thing as fun, because Moonshine Hollow’s resident gargoyle was rumored to want none of my sparkly ideas, and the library’s birthday celebration was coming up fast. It would be up to me to change his mind.
CHAPTER 2
ERASMUS
The spells in the witch’s codex scattered like mice across the page, each letter and symbol refusing to be pinned down. The witch was not a dark mage, but a prankster at heart. But even mischief could do great harm when not controlled. That was why the council had sent me to Moonshine Hollow too many years ago to count to take possession of the codex…and neutralize it. I had spent decades at the task, but it was soon nearing its end. Dozens of volumes of her grimoire had been set to rest. Only one book remained. And now, only the last few pages.
“Now, now, Witch Eyreaway. None of that,” I said, stretching my clawed hands and working my gargoyle magic. A golden swirl of magic unspooled from my fingertips as I chased the witch’s spell. After much concentration, hunching over my desk for who knew how long, I finally locked the spell onto the page.
With the enchantment settled, I surveyed the witch’s notes. Sometimes, I could make out the intent of the witch’s spell, but not always. This spell, however, seemed to have something to do with the transmutation of metals.
“Always about something underhanded, weren’t you?” I asked the absent witch.
She was part of Moonshine Hollow legend now, but Witch Eyreaway had once menaced the little hamlet that became Moonshine Hollow with her meddling ways. Her cottage was long gone, the timbers now part of the bookstore called, rather ridiculously, Sir Hootington’s. But her spells, and the potential harm they presented, still haunted the pages before me.
I paused a moment to give my wings a stretch. Unfurling them, I earned a reproachful huff from Melville, the aged, pearl-white bookwyrm who was curled up in his favorite spot in a chair in the corner.
“My apologies, friend,” I told him, pulling my wings back in. When the grand building that became Moonshine Hollow Library was built nearly eleventy-one years ago, no one had accounted for the space the gargoyle guardian’s anatomy might need for a stretch. But it didn’t matter. My small study and bedroom tucked into one corner of the library were enough for me. I had work to do.
Closing the witch’s codex, I set it carefully back into the bespelled chest and locked it. Pausing, I patted Melville, who was already dozing once more. His eyes opened just a slant, and he purred softly, before going to sleep again. I returned to my workbench, planning to fix the binding on one of the books a librarian had brought to me, but decided to check on a pair of bookwyrms who had been acting oddly the last few days.
I pushed open the door of my study, which sat just off the main work area in the library, and took in the room. In front of me, witches, wizards, and all manner of magic users pored over the tomes held in the library. One elderly woman read through a pair of round spectacles, one finger bobbing in the air as a pair of knitting needles hovered on the other side of her book. As she read, she used her magic to knit. A young wizard had stacks of tomes sitting on either side of him. Dragon lore, from what I could see. So engrossed in his work, he hardly noticed the others in the room. At the corner of one table, I spotted Stevenson, the most mischievous of the bookwyrms, his eyes shining as he watched a young witch work. She turned from her book to jot something down in her journal. As she did so, she reached into her pocket and pulled out what looked like candy. One for her…and one for Stevenson.
I cleared my throat.
Stevenson, not missing the sound, turned my way.
