Page 100 of Magical Mischief

And my breath caught.

The room wasn’t dusty or dark or cloaked in cobwebs like I might’ve expected after all this time. No, it was bright. Not with sunlight exactly, but with magic, soft and ambient, filling the space like warmth from a hearth.

And it wasalive.

At the room's far end, tall windows arched high overhead, ivy curling along the outer panes in soft, dancing patterns. The light filtering through them came in warm, golden tones, thick as honey, pooling in the corners, brushing over the long tables and shelves filled with curious objects.

And in the center of the room? Desks. Not the stiff, narrow kind from my school days, but wide, warm wood tables with thick legs and chairs that looked built for comfort with padded, rounded, welcoming seats.

Quilts draped over the backs. Worn mugs sat at some stations, steam rising from tea that must’ve poured itself the second we opened the door.

Everything in the room feltheld.

Cared for. Like it had been waiting, not abandoned.

Bella moved past me first, jaw slack as she walked down the center aisle, touching the back of one of the chairs. It wiggled slightly and hummed in response.

I blinked. “Did that chair just...greetyou?”

She laughed an actual laugh, the kind I hadn’t heard in weeks. “It hummed! Like a cat purring.”

My grandma stepped into the room, slower than us, her hand trailing along the doorway as if committing the threshold to memory.

“This…” she breathed, “this was the first room we designed for midlife witches. The ones returning to magic after decades away. The ones who thought life had passed them by needed a refuge more than most.”

My gaze swept the room again, slower now. I began to see more.

A shelf along the wall was filled with half-knitted scarves and what looked like enchanted needles, still working quietly on their own. A chalkboard shimmered with writing that faded in and out, offering phrases likeEnchantment After BurnoutandHealing Spells for the Spirit, Not the Ego.

And overhead, hanging gently from the beams, were mobiles made of pressed herbs, crystal clusters, and what looked like old earrings, mismatched, shimmering, clearly loved.

“This is beautiful,” I said. “It’s… It’s more than a classroom.”

“I’m getting all misty-eyed.” My grandma nodded. “It was meant to be a refuge for women who had lived lives, marriages, children, careers, heartbreaks, and needed to find that spark.This Academy has always known that magic doesn't age out. If anything, it deepens.”

Bella touched a side table, running her fingers over a set of tarot cards. “It’s like the room already knows us.”

“Maybe it does,” I said softly.

We all stood for a moment, letting the silence stretch…not awkward, not empty. Just full.

The room wasn’t quiet, exactly. The air held a hush, yes, but it was stitched through with motion. Little things. A feather drifting mid-air that never seemed to land. A teacup refilled itself when the steam ran low. A low thrum of ambient energy, like the room was breathing.

“It never opened before,” my grandma said, half to herself. “Not once, not since the doors first sealed.”

“But it chose now,” I said, looking at Bella.

She moved toward a desk near the center, the largest one, carved with constellations and twirling vines. She didn’t sit. She merely hovered nearby, eyes searching the grain like it might offer her a story.

My grandma smiled. “The women who learned here before the doors closed achieved great things. They became teachers themselves, grew their families, passed down traditions…”

I thought of my life, the years of quiet aching, of pushing away something unnamed until it grew heavy in my chest.

“But this,” I said, sweeping my hand toward the space around us, “this room… It’shope.”

Grandma Elira smiled, not her usual knowing one, but something gentler. “It’s an agreement.”

“Agreement?”