Headmistress with a broom had already become a symbol around here.
And as we all knew, it was not always a graceful one.
Keegan came charging up the steps of the Academy, and we nearly collided.
He caught my elbow automatically, steadying me, eyes scanning my face for injury.
“What is it?” he demanded. “I was just at the inn with Ember. We’re overbooked, but I felt something…shaking.”
“The Wards,” I said, already shifting the broom beneath me. “Stone and Flame.”
Nova skidded onto the landing behind us.
“I feel it now,” she confirmed breathlessly. “Subtle but deliberate. It isn’t a smash, it’s more like probing.”
“Exactly.” I nodded as Keegan’s jaw ground in frustration.
Twobble, somewhere behind, began rapid-fire explanations about aerial vantage points while strategically providing pastry visuals if all is clear.
I didn’t wait.
I swung my leg over the broom, and it dipped the moment my weight hit it.
“Oh, behave,” I muttered, tightening my grip on the handle. “For the love of my pride.”
For a second, I questioned every decision that had led me to learning how to fly.
But the bristles shifted, the handle warmed in my hand, and the broom lifted.
The takeoff wasn’t graceful. It never was. It came packed with a lurch and a spurt.
My stomach dropped as my boots scraped the stone steps before I finally cleared them.
A few of the students gathered in the courtyard gasped as I rose above them.
Apparently, even a crisis didn’t stop people from staring when someone took off on a broom.
I heard someone whisper, “She’s really doing it.”
Another voice answered, “She’s getting better.”
That wasgenerous.
The broom wobbled left, swung sharply back to the right, and then settled beneath me.
The Academy spread out below in the early sunlight. Windows glowed across the grounds, and the old stone held that steady pulse I’d started to recognize since the place woke up.
The Stone Ward lay closest, stretched along the edge of the Academy. I leaned forward before I even realized I’d made the decision, and the broom surged toward the cottage.
Cold wind slammed into my face, stealing my breath and scattering the last of my nerves.
Flying did something strange to panic.
On the ground, problems felt like walls.
In the air, those walls started to look more like patterns.
The cottage came into view first.
