Page 81 of Magical Mayhem

A half-dozen of them, no taller than my knees, zipped between shelves with the speed and grace of sparrows, their wings flickering in the lamplight.

Each wore a different scrap of parchment like a tunic, ink blots, and torn corners, giving them the look of tiny, eccentric scholars. It was a new look recently, and I think it spoke to more students returning to the Academy. The look was pretty cute.

One shrieked in delight when it spotted me. Another darted down a ladder, hauling a tome twice its size. Within seconds, they were all swarming, babbling in squeaky, nonsensical chatter, and dropping books onto my table with thuds that rattled the inkpot.

“Thank you,” I said politely, though my smile was strained. “But I’m looking for…”

Too late.

They scurried off again, with their wings buzzing.

By the time I sat down, the table nearly groaned under the weight of a mismatched pile. I sighed, brushing dust from the top book, and read the title aloud.

“A Compendium of Cauldrons: Sizes, Shapes, and How They Reflect Your Personality.”

I snorted. “Perfect. Just what I needed to track down Keegan’s mother.”

The sprites cheered as though I’d approved of their choice. One fluttered up, depositing another volume on top of the pile. This one was so large it nearly knocked over the inkpot.

“On the Philosophical Habits of Goats.”

I covered my face in my hands. “Not helpful.”

They didn’t care.

A tiny sprite in an ink-stained parchment dress presented me with a dainty pink book titledOne Hundred and One Uses for Marshmallows in Spell work.

I blinked at it. “Actually… no, still not helpful.”

But I flicked it open out of morbid curiosity and found an illustration of a witch catapulting toasted marshmallows at a goblin army. I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Okay, that one’s at least entertaining.”

Another sprite depositedA History of Hedgehogs in Foretelling,followed swiftly byCooking with Mushrooms: The Dangerous and the Delicious.

The pile grew higher, more absurd, until I gave up trying to protest.

“Fine,” I muttered, pulling a random book closer. “Let’s see what treasure you’ve buried me under.”

The hedgehog book was illustrated with tiny drawings of prickly creatures perched atop crystal balls, staring prophetically into the void. One note read,Hedgehogs never lie, but they often exaggerate.

“Brilliant,” I whispered, chuckling.

It was ridiculous, useless, and somehow exactly what I needed after the weight of the last few days. My laughter echoed softly through the library, the sound bouncing back like the shelves themselves approved.

And I realized, once again, the book sprites knew exactly what I needed: A moment to laugh and think about magic in a way that wasn’t life or death.

Still, time was pressing, and Keegan’s mom wasn’t going to stroll through the gates because I discovered that hedgehogs had opinions about lunar eclipses.

I set the book aside and forced myself to sift through the stack with purpose.Cauldrons.Goats.Marshmallows.None of it helped, except to bring a smile to my lips.

But I relented and started flipping pages anyway, looking for anything like a footnote, or a cross-reference, that might hint at shifters, wolves, or the kind of magic that bound them or reunited them.

Hours seemed to trickle by. The sprites remained at my side, tugging at my cloak every time I looked weary, proudly offering me yet more irrelevant books.

The Art of Candlewick SculptureandSongbirds of the Midwest Wards.

“Really?” I asked, raising a brow at the last one. “Songbirds?”