Page 111 of Magical Mischief

Stella muttered, “Neither is a damn lightshow.”

Nova poured tea into mismatched mugs. The sound of it filled the quiet between us.

My mom took hers with both hands. “You said it wasn’t a spirit?”

“No,” Nova said. “Not in the way we usually mean.”

“Then what is it?”

Nova didn’t answer right away. She passed the tea around, then sat beside the candle, her eyes flicking toward the still-warm stones we’d used during the reading.

She sipped. Then, quietly, “Something waking.”

The room went still again.

That word.

Waking.

Not evil. Not good. Just… rising. Becoming aware. Looking back.

“I don’t think it’s done with you,” Nova said softly, her eyes meeting mine.

I didn’t think it was either.

The room stopped buzzing like a storm had just swept through, and Nova stood up. No explanation, no dramatic flair—just stood, eyes distant, body moving like her thoughts were already ten steps ahead of the rest of us.

She crossed to the tallest bookshelf in the back, which looked like it hadn’t been touched in years. Most of the books there were wrapped in string or bundled in faded cloth, the spines blank or marked only with symbols that meant nothing to me. She paused, reached high and pulled down one heavy volume with both hands. It let out a soft groan as she moved it, the sound of something ancient remembering it had a voice.

She brought it to the table and set it down gently, like she’d just unearthed someone’s bones and wasn’t entirely sure they wouldn’t rattle.

None of us spoke.

Nova opened the cover, her fingers brushing over the first page. The parchment was thick, yellowed at the edges, and the script was tiny and precise. Some pages were dense with ink, while others had diagrams with spindly circles, nested runes, and strange illustrations that reminded me more of dreams than anything I’d ever studied.

Stella let out a small breath behind me. “What even is that one?”

Nova didn’t look up. “A ledger of crossings and sightings,” she said. “The kinds most seers never speak aloud. I’ve only opened it once before.”

I stayed quiet, my eyes tracking her as she flipped carefully through the book, page after page. Her fingertips hovered just above the vellum, as if touching the wrong word might spark something off.

“This is where I look,” she murmured, more to herself than anyone else. “When nothing else fits.”

That didn’t ease the knot forming in my chest.

We waited.

My mother sat on the edge of the low bench, her tea cooling between her palms. Stella paced once, then stopped. She didn’t even fill the silence with a joke this time.

Nova turned another page.

Then another.

She paused.

Leant in.

Her eyes scanned a paragraph so quickly I barely saw her blink. Her expression didn’t change. It just grew sharper. More focused.