Page 2 of Magical Mission

“I always knew I’d be a scholar,” Twobble sniffed, dabbing at his nose with a handkerchief that looked suspiciously like it had been stolen from my pocket weeks ago. “I told my cousin Morgy that, you know…” He sniffed. “Told him I’d get in here before any of them hoity-toity folk.”

“And you did.” I squeezed his shoulder, ignoring how emotion twisted tightly in my chest.

Because if anyone deserved this place, it was Twobble.

He’d guarded its secrets when everyone else had forgotten them.

Twobble kept the legends alive, muttering them under his breath at the tea shop or scribbling them into the margins of whatever book he borrowed.

He was the one who noticed the first crack at the cottage, shoved the ancient books into my hands, and showed me where I belonged.

“Twobble,” I said, blinking away the prickle in my eyes, “this place needs you.”

He stared at me like I’d offered him the moon. “Needs me?”

“Yes,” I whispered, and the weight of it settled between us, soft and warm. “The Academy isn’t just charms and Wards. It’s about heart. And loyalty. And grit. And who has more grit than you?”

“No one,” he said fiercely, his pointy chin tilting up.

“Exactly.”

I stepped back, and he stepped over the threshold as the old doors creaked shut.

Twobble took a deep breath, inhaling the familiar smell of old magic and promises that wrapped around us like a welcome hug.

The sunlight caught the stained glass just right, scattering flecks of color over Twobble’s green face. He looked like a hero in one of those old tales he loved so much.

I swallowed hard as he circled in the great space, taking everything in the way I had done not so long ago. The ceiling’s dizzying mosaic of magic swirled above us, and it felt like I was experiencing everything again.

His eyes met mine, and a sheepish grin spread across his face. “I only dreamed about what this place looked like, and my dreams weren’t big enough for this.”

Twobble’s words made my heart squeeze.

“You ready to see your room?” I asked, nudging him toward a hallway.

He froze. “I get a room?”

“Of course you get a room. You’re a student now, aren’t you?”

His eyes went wide. “With a desk?”

“Yes.” I assumed.

“And books?”

“Twobble,” I said, “you might have to fight me for the books.”

He snorted, cheeks flushing. “I always wanted a desk. With a nameplate. And a lamp. And maybe a snack drawer.”

“Well,” I said, leading him through the corridor where ancient magic hummed with pure mysticism, “consider it done.”

We walked side by side down the hall, the flickering sconces glowing a little brighter with each step. It felt right. Like the Academy itself approved.

I had no idea where I was taking him, but I let the Academy guide us as always. Somewhere along the way, I’d learned to look like I knew what I was doing when the exact opposite was true.

Twobble kept stealing glances at me when he thought I wasn’t looking, making sure this wasn’t a dream. I caught his gaze once, and the sarcasm and bluster faded for a moment.

“Maeve?” he said quietly, his voice softer than I’d ever heard it.