Page 69 of Magical Moonbeam

The Academy was already stirring, faintly alive in the way it always was just after dawn. Light filtered through stained glass in gentle streaks. A sprite zipped past me overhead, carrying a basket of scrolls.

I turned the corner and paused.

Voices.

Two of them.

Skonk and Twobble.

Not arguing. Not shouting. Not throwing enchanted pebbles or accusing one another of treachery or questionable hygiene.

Laughing.

I leaned just close enough to hear.

“—and then she turned him into a duck. A duck!” Skonk wheezed.

“I still say he deserved it,” Twobble replied. “You can’t just walk into a summoning circle with muddy boots and expect mercy.”

They cackled.

I blinked.

Was the world ending?

I chose not to interrupt, mostly because I feared jinxing whatever strange truce had formed. Besides, I had somewhere to be.

Outside, the morning was crisp with the first flush of spring blushing at the edges of the garden beds. The air still held a whisper of frost in the shadows, but sunlight pushed through, warm and promising. Spring in Wisconsin always felt like the blink of an eye before summer arrived. Dew clung to every petal in the Butterfly Ward, making the blooms shimmer like spun glass.

Ardetia stood near the eastern fountain, arms folded, her hair braided with golden thread that caught the light when she moved. Nova stood beside her, her dark cloak rustling as a breeze stirred the vines climbing the stone wall.

They both turned as I approached.

“You’re early,” Nova said with a small smile, though her eyes were already scanning me for signs of unrest.

“Only because I slept like a rock,” I admitted, sipping my tea. “Which I’m sure means something. I just don’t know what.”

“Better than not sleeping at all,” Ardetia murmured.

I glanced at her. “Still think this is a good idea?”

“I think,” she said, “we rarely get the luxury of certainty. But we can choose a direction. And right now, this feels like the right one.”

I sighed and looked out across the garden.

“The last time I went anywhere near the memory forge, I got the feeling the sprites there could just snatch your thoughts if they drifted too far from where they were supposed to be.”

Nova didn’t flinch. “They can.”

My mouth went dry.

“They don’t mean harm,” she added. “But their job is to protect the forge. Memory isn’t just recollection. It’s energy. And energy, left unchecked, can unravel everything around it.”

“That’s comforting,” I muttered.

Still, I followed them.

We made our way through the winding path that cut through the Butterfly Ward, down the alley, and past the bakery where the scent of cardamom and jam clung to the air, past the apothecary with its crooked windowpanes and shelves lined with lavender bunches and blue vials that caught the light like jewels.