The ribbit echoed down the corridor, and I froze.
Just having him around made my skin crawl, and I usually liked toads.
I stopped mid-step and closed my eyes.
I’d been so wrapped up in Academy intentions and Wards with opinions that I’d managed to shove the very real, very greenish brown problem to the back of my mind. But there he was, perched on the edge of a stone planter, throat puffing as he regarded the passing world like he was waiting for room service.
“I really do need to deal with you,” I muttered.
The toad blinked slowly.
Behind me, Stella cleared her throat. “I was wondering how long it would take before you acknowledged the elephant, or frog, in the room.”
I turned, rubbing my temples.
“He’s seen too much, Stella. The Academy. Magic. Me. You. Keegan. He’s been ribbiting at curses like they’re Tuesday inconveniences.”
Celeste hovered nearby, arms folded, gaze fixed on her father with a mixture of fascination and lingering resentment.
“He does look… happy,” she offered.
“That’s what worries me,” I replied. “If I turn him back, I have to explain things. Or I don’t explain things. And then there’s the question of where he goes. I can’t just… send him home like this never happened.”
Stella tapped her chin thoughtfully. “There is always the old mind eraser spell.”
Ardetia, who’d been leaning against the archway pretending she wasn’t listening, stiffened.
Her eyes widened. “Absolutely not.”
Stella blinked. “Well, that was absolute.”
“That spell is a slippery slope,” Ardetia said firmly, pushing away from the wall. “You erase one thing, and it destabilizes the rest. Memories anchor identity. You start pulling threads, and suddenly someone doesn’t know why they’re afraid of water or why they never call their sister.”
Celeste looked between them. “That sounds… bad.”
“It is,” Ardetia said. “And it never stays contained to just the magic bits.”
Stella sighed. “Fine. Ruin my favorite shortcut.”
“I don’t want to erase him,” I said quietly. “As much as he’s been… himself. I don’t want to rewrite someone just because it’s inconvenient.”
The toad let out a soft ribbit, as if agreeing.
Celeste crouched down and reached out a hand.
“Hey,” she said softly.
I tensed. “Celeste—”
“It’s okay,” she said, fingers gentle as she patted the toad’s head. “I just wanted to see.”
The toad froze before leaning into her touch with an unmistakable air of smug contentment.
Stella snorted. “Well. That’s new.”
Celeste straightened, brushing her hands on her jeans.
“He’s still annoying,” she said. “But… I don’t feel scared anymore, like I’ll accidentally make him disappear or something.”
