“I mean it,” I added. “You’ve seen too much, heard too much, and frankly, you’re enjoying this far more than is appropriate for someone who was once a fully grown man.”
He let out a softer ribbit, the sound almost… wounded.
I ignored it.
I straightened and drew a steady breath, feeling the weight of the decision settle into place. Avoiding him hadn’t worked. Hoping the problem would solve itself hadn’t worked. And as tempting as it was to leave him perched somewhereinconvenient until the universe sorted it out, with a few timely hawks circling, that wasn’t responsible.
Unfortunately.
“I’m dealing with you,” I muttered.
The library responded before I even finished the sentence.
The sprites stirred, a flutter of motion like pages caught in a breeze. One zipped past my ear with a delighted chirp. Another tugged at my sleeve insistently. Before I could protest, three of them worked together to wrestle a book free from a nearby shelf, dragging it across the air with impressive determination.
The book landed on the table with a satisfied thump.
I stared at the title.
Hexing the Ex: A Practical Guide to Magical Closure.
I burst out laughing.
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” I said, wiping at my eyes. “That already happened.”
The toad shifted uncomfortably.
“See?” I said, pointing at him. “Case in point.”
I flipped the book open anyway, because curiosity was one of my more dangerous traits. The pages were cheerfully organized, complete with tabs and marginal notes that suggested this book had been very well-loved over the centuries. Binding spells. Petty curses. Creative inconveniences.
I snorted. “Wow. Someone really worked through some feelings.”
The sprites hovered close, eager, one of them tapping insistently on the back section of the book.
“All right,” I said. “I see you.”
I flipped toward the end.
Reversal Spells.
My laughter faded.
I scanned the page slowly, reading each line with growing unease. The spells were specific. Detailed. And very clear about one thing.
The caster mattered.
In fact, the caster mattered more than the target.
“Oh,” I whispered.
I looked from the book to the toad to my daughter and back again.
“This wasn’t my spell,” I said quietly.
The sprites stilled, hovering midair as if waiting for me to finish the thought.
I swallowed. “It was Celeste’s.”
