Page 34 of With the Key in the Office

Drew nodded. “You’ll make great godmothers.”

Robbie bumped my hand and then laced his fingers through mine with a smile that made my knees wobble.

“Nice work, Watson,” he whispered.

I beamed. “Right back at you, Sherlock.”

Jaylyn, looking lighter than she’d been in weeks, exhaled. “We need a vacation.”

Jessie draped an arm around my shoulders. “You earned one. And a second one.”

Fizz hung near the door, wary but alert. Lucifer was still MIA, probably planning an elaborate display for his new trophy.

The castle, for all its drama, held steady. The Key was gone, safe with a devil, and somehow I didn’t feel even a tiny bit worried about it. Freddie was home. Maple, vindicated. Fizz had a new beginning dangling in front of her, and the Hunters looked bored for the first time in months.

We trickled off, breaking into small groups. Robbie and I kept pace together, hands still linked.

My room welcomed us with the electric energy of two cats awaiting a feeding. Tilly voiced her opinions in staccato meows, vibrating like she’d missed me for years instead of a few hours. Simon slunk in, winding through my ankles before leaping onto the bed like he owned both it and my future.

I locked the door. Robbie poured tea, then stacked mugs on the side table. We curled into the softness of the bed, with Tilly and Simon quickly arranging themselves on top of the blanket.

An ordinary night should not have been so remarkable. But this time, basking in the comfort of the home I’d built, with friends and cats and a boyfriend who knew how to make tea without asking for instructions, I realized something.

This was what a second act felt like.

I stared out the window for a minute, thinking about everything. My new family, my new life. Vanderflit and Freddie walking the castle, already making plans. I’d always thought the next stage in life would be quieter. Instead, it was alive with magic, laughter, and cats who demanded a decent share of the covers.

If you’d told me a year ago I’d be here, crisis-solving, learning to be a fairy godmother, I would have laughed you out of the room. Now I just pulled the covers up, let the cats stake their claim, and closed my eyes.

Tomorrow would probably bring more weirdness.

But for tonight, I was exactly where I belonged.

EPILOGUE: CENDI

ONE YEAR LATER

The last timeI’d seen the courtyard this full, it involved an accidental gnome migration and the resulting paperwork. At least on godmother graduation day, the benches overflowed with happy people, not tiny herbivores desperate to destroy the hydrangeas.

We’d hung enough streamers to trip a centaur. Ward-orbs hummed above the towers, glassy and solid. There wasn’t a hint of magical trouble. Even the clouds looked like they’d been told to behave.

Rows of benches jammed the lawn, sagging under the weight of, well, everyone. Families dressed in every shade from “barely managed to button the shirt” to “fashion is pain, pass the glitter.” Faculty in full regalia, some already inventing reasons to hover near the cookies. Friends waving from clusters, like islands of inside jokes. The littlest students from the other side of the academy zigzagged along the front, swinging homemade signs bigger than their heads: “Go Jessie!” “Ms. Ault is our Hero!” “Jaylyn is Magic!” I spotted at least one “#TeamRobbie.”

At the far edge, Ms. Maple hovered near the start of the aisle, wringing her hands and looking like she might vaporize from pride and nerves. Her hair had staged a small rebellion, half of it worming loose from the bun on the back of her head. She beamed at everyone and no one, cheeks bright pink.

The dais groaned under the dignitaries, but the real story landed in two spots. Freddie standing beside Mr. Vanderflit, and the Headmaster, John, conferring with Headmistress Beth about order of ceremonies. I never imagined Freddie would get out of a stasis field and launch straight into “most popular staff member” status, but after the past year, nothing surprised me.

Maybe I should have put money on the fact that Jessie, now officially a full teacher, looked more at home in her robes than I ever would in a business suit. She stood at the podium, shoulders back, wand polished to a shine, beaming at the sea of faces.

I would have paid cash for a stiff breeze. My knees wobbled just thinking about walking across the stage. At least I didn’t have to go first.

John pushed up to the microphone, gaze sweeping the crowd with the perfect mix of warm grandpa and head honcho. “Today, we graduate class seventy-eight,” he began, “with the highest pass rate in two decades, and more wild hallway pranks than any year on record.” Laughter rolled across the benches, loud and genuine.

Beth, standing to the side like a favorite aunt who’d seen it all, took over. “What we honor is not perfection or bravado. We honor the craft, the kindness, and the steady hands that turn magic from showbiz to service. Today’s graduates have patched,rescued, studied, and most importantly lifted each other when nobody was watching.”

She paused. “And if you noticed the cookie tray refilling itself, you have Ms. Maple to thank. And the baking club, who may have used the staff oven without written permission.”

I grinned. Maple’s blush deepened. Behind her, a cookie appeared in the tray.