Page 10 of Magical Mayhem

“Well, you got on it. You just didn’t stay on it,” Twobble quipped.

The mule snorted, shook its flower-draped head, and bolted straight at me.

I yelped, darting sideways as it thundered past, sparks crackling where its hooves struck. The students shrieked and scattered, skirts and hats flying in all directions. Twobble whooped with delight, chasing after the beast like it was a parade float.

“Maeve!” he called over his shoulder. “Watch what I can do.”

“Don’t touch it!” I shouted, running after him.

Never in my wildest dreams or worst nightmare had I conjured a magical mule with a vendetta.

The path widened into a clearing where the Wilds pressed close.

“I nearly had it!” Twobble cried.

“No, you nearly had a concussion,” I muttered. “Are you hurt?”

“Only my pride.” He grinned, brushing moss from his arms.

Meanwhile, the mule stood proudly in the clearing, flowers blooming fresh along its shoulders, sparks popping. It looked at me with big eyes and stomped once as if issuing a challenge.

Twobble edged closer, hands behind his back, trying to look nonthreatening. “Now, now, pretty beast. You’re giving us a bit of fun, aren’t you? Who’s a good bramble-mule?”

The creature flicked its ears, unimpressed, and promptly sneezed. A shower of dandelion seeds burst into the air, coating Twobble from head to toe.

“Ugh!” he spluttered, spitting fluff. “How rude.”

The midlife students giggled, their earlier fear melting into delight. Several whipped out notebooks, scribbling excitedly about unexpected magical fauna. Someone started sketching, and I laughed, rubbing my temples.

Of course, the first day of the summer session couldn’t simply be tea and welcome speeches. No, we had to start with a spontaneous visit to the Wilds.

“Maeve?” one of the students asked nervously. “Is this… safe?”

I glanced at the mule. It pawed the ground, but its sparks dimmed, and its garland mane seemed more playful than dangerous.

“As long as its thorns don’t come out,” Nova announced, coming forward. The crowd whispered with even more excitement.

“Safe enough, I suppose,” I said cautiously. “So long as we don’t…”

Twobble sneezed again, sending dandelion fluff swirling. The mule perked up, brayed like a trumpet, and bounded straight toward him.

“Run!” he yelped, legs pumping as fast as they could go. The mule charged after him, sparks lighting up the air like fireworks.The students roared with laughter, cheering as though this were a planned performance.

I pressed a hand to my mouth, stifling a laugh of my own.

Because for the first time all day, the shadows over Stonewick slipped from my thoughts. No Gideon, no Malore, no curse gnawing at Keegan. Just a ridiculous goblin chased by a sparkling green mule, and a crowd of midlife witches shrieking with glee.

The mule finally caught up, nuzzled Twobble hard enough to knock him flat, then pranced in a circle around him before settling down in the moss as if it had never caused a ruckus.

Twobble sat up, his sparse hair wild.

“See? I tamed it.”

“You fell over,” I corrected.

“Details,” he sniffed, brushing off his knees.

The students swarmed closer, cooing over the creature, petting its leafy garland, plucking flowers that instantly regrew. The mule accepted the attention with smug satisfaction.