“Now,” Nova said, “close your eyes and feel the Ward lifting you. The way it did when you saved the Luminaries loop. The way it does when you walk into a place with good intentions.”
“That’s very subjective,” I said, but I closed my eyes anyway.
Warmth moved under my feet, up my legs, curling along my spine. The Ward had always loved me a little too loudly, buttoday, it felt like it was cupping its hands under me, ready to boost.
“Let it gather,” Nova said. “Ask for an inch. No more.”
“One inch,” I whispered to the Ward. “No sudden ambitions. I am not a kite.”
Somewhere to my left, Twobble whispered, “This is where it either works or becomes a story.”
“Not helpful,” Keegan said.
I inhaled, exhaled, and nudged my magic the way I do when I’m coaxing herbs to grow faster or convincing Wards to accept a new energy.
Just a little.
Just enough.
The broom shivered. The bristles lifted off the ground a hair.
I cracked an eye open.
I was still on the ground. Good.
Then I smelled smoke.
I frowned. “Okay, which one of you brought a smoker into the Ward again? Because if something’s on fire, I swear—”
Keegan’s head snapped up. “Do you smell that?”
Stella’s nose wrinkled. “That is not one of my candles.”
Skonk squinted at his clipboard.
“There was absolutely nothing flammable in step one,” he muttered. “That I know of.”
Twobble sniffed the air, alarm dawning. He looked down.
“So,” he said. “Slight update. The broom is on fire.”
“What?” I yelped.
I looked.
The very, very end of the broom bristles smoldered like a rebellious marshmallow. A faint line of sparks snaked through the dried twigs, brightening.
“Oh no,” I said. “Nope. Abort. We are aborting.”
“Feet down,” Nova said sharply. “Maeve, release the lift. Now.”
I tried. I really did. But panic and magic have a long history of miscommunication in my world.
Instead of going down, the Ward panicked with me.
The ground dropped.
The broom lurched.
