Skonk jutted his chin, which on a goblin looked like adjusting your entire soul.
“This is serious business, Hedge Witch.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” I muttered.
Twobble spread his arms in what I think was supposed to be an expansive gesture and ended up more like a bird threatening interpretive dance.
“You are going to meet the head priestess of Shadowick eventually.”
“Unfortunately,” I said.
“Rude,” Twobble said. “Family is family, even if they’re peddling doom and unreasonable dress codes.”
Skonk nodded solemnly. “If you must confront an ice-hearted priestess with a hunger knot and questionable taste, the least you should know how to do—”
“Is hex her,” I said. “Or survive her. Or out-negotiate her. Or—”
“Fly,” Twobble finished.
I blinked. “Absolutely not.”
Twobble beamed. “We knew you’d say that. That’s step one in the process.”
“No, really.” I planted a hand on the carved rail where generations of students had carved their nerves. “I’m a Hedge Witch. My feet belong firmly planted on the ground. It’s only my mind that should do the flying.”
Skonk stomped his foot.
The thud echoed a little too enthusiastically, courtesy of the Academy.
“Incorrect,” he declared. “A properly leveled heroine should have at least one aerial ability by the time she confronts a major boss.”
“I am not a video game,” I said.
“Tell that to the last eleven months of your life,” Twobble shot back.
I opened my mouth, then closed it, since it was a depressingly good point.
“The priestess has altitude,” Skonk went on, counting on his fingers. “Strategically, emotionally, magically. You? Ground-bound.”
“Rude again,” I said, even as the words landed. He wasn’t wrong. My magic liked lines and roots and hedges and boundaries. It stretched up, sure, but its heart was in the earth and energy between us. The idea of being untethered, nothing but air between me and a very hard landing—
My stomach did a little drop just thinking about it.
Twobble’s grin turned sly. “Anyway, it’s too late.”
“Too late for what?” I asked carefully.
“We’ve already gathered a coalition,” Skonk said, puffing up like a toad reciting bylaws.
“Oh no,” I breathed.
The Butterfly Ward shimmered, and as if the world had been waiting for the cue, Keegan walked through it.
He came from the Ward’s archway, shoes crunching on the gravel, hair damp, shirt rolled up at the sleeves like he’d already argued with the day and was willing to argue with it again. Behind him, the Ward energy clung for a second, then let him go, sliding back along his edges as if it liked him too much to stop touching him.
Keegan took in the scene with the two goblins, my posture, my likely expression, and his mouth tipped wryly.
“They asked, didn’t they,” he said.
