Page 12 of Magical Mayhem

Twobble hopped forward, spreading his arms wide like a showman. “Nonsense. It’s a gift. Look at it. It’s got flowers, sparks, and a winning personality. If the Academy doesn’t start charging for tickets, I’ll start. But all proceeds will go to the goblin snack cupboard.”

The witches chuckled nervously, eager to believe his optimism. Their fussing over the mule resumed, though now with an edge of excitement.

Apparently, nothing thrilled students more than forbidden creatures.

But that created my chance to sneak off.

While all eyes shifted toward the bramble mule, I slipped into the trees. My sandals stepped over the moss, as my cloak brushed against ferns. The tug inside me grew stronger with every move, guiding me deeper into the hush.

The forest closed around me quickly, swallowing the sounds of laughter until all I could hear was my own breath and the faint crackle of energy at the edge of my senses.

The Wilds were beautiful in their strangeness.

Moss glowed faintly underneath vines that twisted like curious serpents.

I paused by an oak, laying my palm against its rough bark.

My heart hammered, and I whispered to myself, “What are you trying to show me?”

The only answer that came was the insistent pull dragging me further in.

I hesitated, torn between duty, the students, Nova, the others, and this undeniable compulsion to follow. But in my bones, I knew that something waited in the Wilds. Something that would not wait much longer.

I glanced back through the trees.

From here, I could still see the edge of the clearing. Nova’s tall form was steady as a statue. Ardetia’s copper hair catching the light. Twobble bounced like an overexcited child, earning indulgent laughter from the students. And at the center of it all, the mule preening, sparks flickering brighter, blossoms blooming faster, almost feverishly.

None of them noticed me. Not yet.

I drew a breath, squared my shoulders, and stepped further into the woods.

Whatever waited, I had to know.

The moment I ventured deeper into the Wilds, the air changed.

It wasn’t just cooler, though the breeze carried a chill that raised goosebumps along my arms. It was alive in a way that made my skin prickle. The forest pulsed, each leaf and branch thrumming faintly, as though the whole place had taken a deep breath the night of Moonbeam and hadn’t exhaled yet.

Fresh vines looped across the trunks, supple and green, as though they’d grown overnight. Wildflowers pushed up at the bases of trees, their petals glowing faintly in the dim light, bluesand yellows and one stubborn white daisy that swayed as I passed.

But it was the mushrooms that stole my breath.

Bright red caps dotted the moss, each one rimmed with a silvery edge that gleamed faintly like dew even though the ground was dry. Some were small and clustered like buttons, others broad and flat, big enough that Twobble could have used them as stools. They hadn’t been here before, not in spring. Not even a week ago, when I last dared to take a walk this far.

Summer had painted the Wilds with a heavier hand, almost too heavy.

I knelt briefly, brushing my fingers over one of the mushrooms. It was unnaturally warm, considering I was in a dark forest, but my magic shivered in response.

I stood quickly, brushing my hands on my skirts, my heart beginning to pound.

The path was faint at best, but the pull in my chest urged me onward.

The vines thickened, arching over my head, twining into shapes that looked almost deliberate, half-formed runes.

Flowers opened as I passed, and my pulse beat louder in my ears.

I told myself I wasn’t afraid. Only cautious. Only aware. But every step seemed to sink me deeper into a place that was watching me as closely as I was watching it.

The Wilds had never been ordinary, but tonight they pressed close, clinging like a second skin.