Page 41 of Destined Dawn

“No, I mean it wasn’t super common. It’s a pretty dangerous method of travel and so most magicals werehappy enough to stick with horses and coaches. Then the steam train and the motorcar came along and the practice of broomstick flying pretty much died out.”

“Because it’s girly as shit,” Spencer scoffs.

Winnie fixes him with her most penetrating stare. “Do you have a problem with ‘girly shit’, Spencer Moreau?”

Spencer’s gaze drops to the floor. “Errr, no.”

“They also banned broomstick travel,” Trent pipes up, “for being dangerous. It’s not like a broomstick comes with a seatbelt or an airbag.”

“But you think we could use them to take us to the Albany convent?” I ask Trent.

“It was just an observation,” he mutters, glancing at Azlan.

“Do any of you actually know how to fly a broomstick?” I ask the others.

Azlan, Stone and Spencer all scoff, like the idea of any of them climbing onto a broomstick is the silliest thing ever considered. Obviously far too girly for such big burly men like them. I roll my eyes. But both Trent and Winnie nod and after a pause Tristan does too.

“Even though it’s illegal?” I say, raising an eyebrow at Winnie.

“We used to do it behind my mom’s back,” Winnie confesses. “We used to steal the broom, take it out back and bewitch it, take turns to have a ride. It’s really not as dangerous as Trent is making out.”

“That’s because you’re really, really good at magic, Winnie,” Trent says, smiling at her. “We could never get our broomstick under control. It used to kick us off like a bucking bronco! That’s how I broke my arm when I was ten – although I told my mom and dad I fell out of a tree.”

“And you used to do this too?” I ask Tristan, surprised.Tristan Kennedy is all about looking cool. Riding broomsticks doesn’t seem to fit his image.

“Sometimes, when I was bored,” he says while Spencer gapes at him like his best friend just confessed to having three dicks. “It’s not that hard.”

Trent meets my eye. “It is. Those two are just …” He shrugs just as Renzo returns with his arms full of broomsticks. Ancient-looking broomsticks made from twigs and sticks tied together with string that must be about to disintegrate.

“There are more up in the attic,” he says, dumping them on the ground. “Along with lots of other weird shit. The people who lived here were freaky.”

I reach down and pick one up, the handle had been sanded down and polished and despite the advent of time, is still smooth to the touch. The broom is also lighter than I expected it to be, so light I can almost feel its buoyancy.

“How do I make it work?” I ask Tristan.

“You heard Trent,” Azlan says. “Broom flying is dangerous.”

“So is staying in this mansion,” I snipe, “and do you have any better ideas?”

Azlan considers this question. “No,” he admits, “I don’t.”

I turn back to Tristan. He sweeps his hand through his hair uncomfortably and takes a step forward.

“Broomsticks are female,” he says.

“Of course they are,” Winnie says, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Because housework is women’s work.”

“I didn’t make the rules. They just are, okay?”

“Really?” Trent says. “I never noticed that.”

“No offense,” Tristan says, wrapping his hand around mine, “but that’s probably why you could never stay on. You need to ask her permission to ride her.”

Spencer sniggers but I can tell Tristan is serious about this.

“And how do I do that?”

“Hmmm,” he groans, “it’s just something I knew how to do. I don’t know how to explain it.” He closes his eyes, his magic humming in the air, and the end of the broomstick lifts off the ground, the entire thing hovering two feet from the floorboards.